Dawn River
by SilverRay
Summary: Named for the place where she was found, she is by an unlikely hand under dangerous circumstances. As the Fellowship moves on their journey, a dark hand reaches to ensnare her, the gift to those who do not know it yet. ON HOLD.
1. Prologue

**Dawn River- Prologue **

_3002 TA___

He moved lightly beside the river, pausing now and then to check the ground. The soft mud had made easy tracks for him to follow, and yet he knew he was too late. The tracks were half washed away by the rains prior that morning and the footprints were days old as it was. He lifted his eyes off the ground for a moment, raising them to look at the forest that laid ahead. Lórien. He wondered how Gandalf faired in his search of the creature Gollum. Gray clouds were moving off to the east, a clear blue sky over head now. Something caught his eye beside the river. 

Movement.

The long grass beside the river rustled once more and he crept slowly towards it, drawing his blade. His steps were silent, barely touching the grass about him. As he neared the moving grass he peered over until he could see the object of movement. 

A gust of wind brushed the grass about and he between the blades he saw a baby, no more than a few weeks old, squirming about. He lowered his sword, walking towards the young creature and now he knelt beside it. "What do we have here?" he asked aloud. 

The unclothed baby immediately stopped squirming and turned her blue eyes upon the newcomer. A small mop of golden hair covered the very top of her head, a bit speckled  with dirt and mud. He gently moved the girl's head to the side, she cried against it but he didn't pay her any heed. A _human _baby. He picked up the baby as gently as he could and the girl little out a little cry of delight. He removed his cloak with one hand and wrapped the frayed, travel-worn fabric about the baby. The blue eyed baby squealed in delight. He didn't know what to do. What to do with such a thing? His eyes swept about the land, no one in sight. Then his gaze swept across the ground, the tracks he were following stopping beside the river, pacing about. Most likely Gollum had decided to look for fish. 

"Gollum will have to wait I suppose," he looked down at the bundle in his hands. The baby's small hands had grasped at his tunic and were twisting the fabric around curiously. Her eyes turned up to him at his voice she let out a sound of delight. He sighed softly and started towards Lothlórien.  

~◊~

_One Year Later _

The baby crawled about the camp, making as bit of nose but as little noise as was possible. The ranger watched fondly as the baby scrambled through the dirt. She paused, turning her head to him, letting out a sound of delight. He laughed and motioned for the girl to come towards him. She obeyed, moving through the flicker shadows from the fire to his side. "Pa…pa," she giggled and he ruffled her small batch of hair. 

"Quiet down now Rómensir," he picked the girl up and placed her in his lap. The girl silenced immediately amusing herself with twisting about the edges of his cloak. The soft crackling of the small fire filled the tiny clearing. The child in his arms sighed softly and nestled up against his chest. Soon she was asleep, her soft breathing barely audible in the clearing. A large crack echoed in through the woods and he leapt to his feet, barely startling the girl in his arms. She made a soft sound of complaint before nestling back to her comfort. He slipped the baby into her carrier and slid it onto his back, kicking the fire out as he did. Then they were gone, as if they were never there. 

~◊~

_Five Years Later_

"One! Two! Move your feet more. That's it," the small girl met her sword against her teacher's. "One! Two! Find a steady rhythm to your moves, don't swing so wide." 

The sound of metal clashing upon metal filled the open plains. The little girl swung the sword in her hands, a bit clumsily but with expert skill. Having trained with the sword for three years now, the only thing she was missing was grace. "Step forward, back, move your feet." 

Her small feet moved backwards, as he advanced forward, moving his sword faster. She tripped over a stone protruding from the ground, clutching her sword in her right hand as she fell backwards, tangling herself in her cloak. "Rómensir, are you all right?" he lowered his blade and walked towards the girl.

She let out a battle cry and leapt to her feet instantly and he barely had time to stop her blade. "I'm still fighting!" she proclaimed, charging at her father, swinging the sword. He laughed and easily flicked the sword out of her small hands. 

"Come now Rómensir, we have much ground to cover before nightfall. I promise I shall train you more then," he picked up his quiver and bow, placing them on his back. The girl sheathed her sword and came up beside the ranger. 

"Father, will you tell me a story?" she questioned.

He turned his gaze to the small girl. "Have I told you the tale Akallabêth?" he asked. The girl thought for a moment. "Perhaps I have but once more wouldn't hurt you," he fondly tugged the girl's ear lightly and she laughed. "Now let me see…where to start…" 

~◊~

_Ten Years Later_

"This is Athelas or Asëa Aranion," he held up the plant in front of the girl. 

"Athelas or Asëa Aranion," she repeated. She took the leaves from his hand, feeling their texture, putting them to her nose to smell. "They smell so sweet," she whispered, indulging in the scent. 

He nodded pulling himself to his feet. "It has wonderful healing properties. If you speak to another about it, it might be known as Kingsfoil to them."

"Kingsfoil," she repeated.

"Hurry up Rómensir, I showed you the plant for you to know it, not to smell it for the rest of our days," he smiled at her and she stood, pushing the leaves into her pocket. "We have much ground to cover before night." He sheathed the knife he had used to cut the plant. 

"You always say that," she looked up to the sky, peaking out through the trees. 

"And yet today is as true as any other. We have much ground to cover if we are to make it to our destination on time."

"And where would that be?" she questioned. 

"You shall see Rómensir, you shall see soon."  

~*~

Yare, yare, what do we have here? _Another _LotR/SM fic. Well yes I suppose so. I hope you liked it so far, but I can't force you to like it. Oh well. 

**Silver Shadows (if you're reading this): **ANE-CHAN! You read my fic? Oro? How? Anyways, please tell me that the Inu Yasha episodes are in a language I understand! Please don't let them be in mandarin! PLEASE! Pretear! ANE! :glomps: WAI! You messed TNE up. I can't help you! I don't know what to write…gomen gomen! Email me what you have and I'll try to finish it up. Get more Inu Yasha stuff! Get me a wall scroll or a poster! A PLUSHIE! I want an Inu Yasha PLUSHIE! ^-^


	2. Aerial and Strider, a Knife in the Dark

This will closely follow the book, with bits and interesting pieces from the film that I think will fit.

I do not own Lord of the Rings or Sailormoon or some of the dialogue pieces taken from the books. This will apply for all following chapters and the prologue.

**Dawn River**

_September 29, 3018 TA_

The four hobbits dashed across the street, staring about themselves at those that passed them by, some Big Folk and other Little Folk. They soon spotted their destination, a wooden sign swinging from the arch outside with a pony rearing up on its hind legs and white painted letters gleamed from above the door reading _"The Prancing Pony by Barliman Butterbur." _Lights shone brightly behind the curtained windows and they stood at the outside listening to the sounds within. Merry singing and loud chatter could be heard from their position outside. They all exchanged glances and Frodo shrugged. The four led the ponies into the yard past the arch. Leaving them there, they climbed up the steps to the door and swung it open, entering the inn. 

They all shuffled into the crowded inn, standing about uneasily. Frodo turned and nearly bumped into a plump man bearing a tray of mugs, all filled to the brim and some spilling over into the common room. The hobbit began to speak but the man was gone into the crowd and soon emerged. With a little 'ah!' he stooped over to look at the creature. "Good evening, little master!" he said, looking over the four. "What may you be wanting?"

"Beds for four," Frodo replied, staring the man in his round face, "and stabling for four ponies, if that can be managed. Are you Mr. Butterbur?" 

"That's right! Barliman is my name. Barliman Butterbur at your service! You're from the Shire, eh?" He slapped his forehead, though not hard, remembering a bit of something. "Now what does that remind me of? Might I ask your names sir?"

"Mr. Took and Mr. Brandybuck," he replied, "and this is Sam Gamgee. My name is Underhill." 

From their seat against the wall, they watched the party of hobbits carefully. His companion swung around to face him. "Do you think that they are who we seek?" 

"Underhill," he replied with a lift of the corners of his mouth. "Sounds familiar does it not?" 

A hobbit came up to the party of four and led them away. The person beside him pulled the hood of the weather beaten cloak further down as if to hide from any watchers. "We shall see, I suppose, we shall see."

Sometime later, three of the four hobbits returned to the company. The room was loud and crowded. People were everywhere, most carrying mugs. A group by the bright fireplace was huddled together speaking softer than the others. The fire flickered happily, filling the room with warmth and invited good spirits. A man laughed and spilled some of the contents of his mug onto the well traveled wooden floor. The planks were worn from years of use and were covered with a few droplets of ale and beer here and there. They picked their way across the room, squeezing between people, avoiding chair legs and the corners of benches and tables. The odor was strange a mix of ale and beer and smoke. There was a lot of smoke, the air somewhat dark and thick, creating an air of mystery and coughs. Soon Mr. Butterbur pulled them aside and began to introduce them to the occupants of the room.

Their eyes watched them carefully as they were introduced. He stuck between his lips a well crafted pipe and smoked from it as the person to his right sipped nervously from one of the mugs set before them. "There is not reason to be nervous," he nodded to the hand shaking as it grasped the cold handle of the mug.

"I am not nervous for there is no reason to be nervous. But I feel it in the air, do you not feel it? They are near." 

He didn't reply as Frodo swung his eyes about to meet his, his legs ceased their swinging as they dangled from the bench and he seemed to think for a moment. The Ranger's eyes were watching him carefully, keenly, observing his every move. He saw the hobbit pull aside the inn keeper and nodded to him. A smile played across his lips as if he knew what they were saying about him. Butterbur spoke with the hobbit for a  moment on Strider and then when Frodo nodded to the person to the Ranger's right he shook his head. "That person, he's always with that Strider. We all think that they're partners or something of the such, both of them Rangers that they are. Nobody knows anything about him. We all call him Aerial. He just comes in and disappears like nothing, never talks to anyone not even a tale. Stay away from him. He's dangerous, you can just feel it." When Butterbur left, Strider lifted his hand and waved the hobbit over and he made his way across the room to his side. He pulled back his hood but his companion simply watched the room, watching all who passed about.

"I am called Strider," he said quietly, his voice low and a bit eerie. The hobbits swayed a bit nervously in his seat and his eyes flickered about from the Ranger to his companion. A smile played over the lips of the 'Aerial' to his side and they shifted on the bench. "I am very pleased to meet you Master…Underhill," he said the word slowly and the hobbit stiffened a bit, "if old Butterbur got your name right."

"He did," Frodo replied shortly, a bit uncomfortable at his position and the way this Strider was speaking to him. A chill ran down his back but it wasn't the same fear he felt with the black riders. Perhaps it was what Butterbur was saying earlier about the second Ranger.

Strider nodded, his eyes still fixed entirely on the hobbit. "Well, Master Underhill," he said the name a bit quicker but drawled it out slowly, "if I were you, I should stop your young friends from talking too much. Drink, fire, and chance-meeting are pleasant enough, but, well- this isn't the Shire. There are queer folk about. Though I say it as shouldn't, you may think," the hobbit glanced about and he smiled wryly. "And there have been even stranger travelers through Bree lately."

The Ranger swung his eyes over to Pippin and Frodo's eyes followed. The young hobbit was being watched closely by three pair of eyes as he began to tell the tale of Bilbo's birthday party, a harmless silly story on the surface but he knew what Frodo was thinking. The name Baggins had been brought up and would be discussed. His identity would be compromised and thus, danger would find him quickly. Pippin neared the moment of Bilbo's disappearance.

"You had better do something quick!" he hissed into the hobbit's ear and the hobbit suddenly leapt onto a table with one great bound and after a fleeting moment, he began to talk of random, pointless things. Pippin's audience had shifted to Frodo and the Ranger sat back. Frodo soon ended his act of a crazy drunk and in time, many people in the room began to call for a song. The hobbit said nothing for a moment and soon he broke out into a ridiculous song. 

"He will slip and make a mistake now, I can feel it. It's coming, soon." He didn't move but his eyes darted to Aerial at his right.  

The company began to cheer for a repeat and he gladly did their bidding. He finished a drink and began to sing again. Many joined in, humming and other singing somewhat mumbled. "Now." Frodo came to part of the song and leapt from the table to emphasize his words. He crashed into a tray of mugs and instantly disappeared causing exclamations of surprise and shock. Strider looked at his companion. What wonderful timing. 

The room went up into uproar, some crying out at what had happen to the singer, some frightened at the uncanny action. All began to talk and some moved away from Sam and Pippin who had been watching Frodo from a corner. One slipped out of the room with a knowing look in his eyes, a southerner followed and they spoke together in hushed tones. The hobbit crawled beneath tables and soon reappeared in the corner beside the Ranger. He supposed the ring had been in his hand and had slipped on when he had been grasping for a perch to slow his fall. He pulled off the ring and took a deep breath. "Well?" the Ranger to his right questioned. "Why did you do that? Worse than anything your friends could have said! You have to put your foot in it! Or should I say your finger?"

"I don't know what you mean," he replied slightly alarmed and bewildered. A small deep chuckle came from Aerial, perched at the other side of the Ranger and the man shifted his eyes to his companion. 

"Oh yes you do," replied Strider, he straightened himself from his hunched position to speak with the hobbit, "but we had better wait until the uproar has died down. Then, if you please, Mr. _Baggins,_ I should like a quiet word with you."

"What about?" Frodo questioned, he didn't respond to the change in names. 

"A matter of some importance- to us both," he replied. He looked the hobbit straight in the face, eye to eye. "You may hear something to your advantage."

"Very well," he said. He tried his best to look as though he didn't care for what the man was saying. "I'll talk to you later." 

Soon a small argument broke out by the fireplace, the fire flickering about not as bright as it was earlier. The landlord came into the room and was listening to several accounts of what had happened that night. They were discussing Frodo's disappearance, Butterbur clearly saying that it was not possible for someone to disappear and claimed that it was a mistake. 

"Of course there's a mistake!" Frodo stood up, leaving the corner where the strange travelers were. "I haven't vanished. Here I am! I've just been having a few words with Strider in the corner."

The company backed away from the hobbit as he came near into the firelight. The customers began to leave saying they had seen enough for the night. The thought that the hobbit was speaking to the Ranger disturbed them. Who would want to associate with that group of people? Several people left, glancing darkly at the hobbit and muttering between themselves. People nodded and said goodnight to the landlord but all ignored Frodo and his friends.

Soon the room was empty and all that were left was Frodo and his companions and the two strange figures in the corner. A few more words were passed between Butterbur and Frodo, something on meeting later to discuss something and the hobbits disappeared back to their rooms. Strider stood up and followed without a word, his companion disappearing from the inn like a shadow.

His feet led him down the silent street, the night occasionally broken by a loud burst of laughter or someone calling into the street. As he neared Bill Ferny's house, he knew what he would find. Merry laid on the street no more than a heap. He knelt down beside the hobbit and froze, listening into the air. He could hear a hissing from behind a hedge and a chill ran down his spine but he stood, scooping the hobbit up into his arms and setting him on his own two feet. "Awake friendly hobbit," he commanded, his voice neither high nor low. It was soft, not above a whisper and more like a soft breath of wind. Merry swayed a bit on his feet.  "I thought I had fallen into deep water," the hobbit mumbled to himself and blinked a bit turning to stare at the hooded face before him. He nearly let out a cry of surprise but a rough calloused hand covered his mouth and the other picked him up by the back of his shirt. 

Aerial hurried back up the street releasing his hold on the hobbit. He propped the hobbit on his two feet as if he was nothing but a potted plant. Nob came running up to them carrying a lantern. "Master Brandybuck, are you all right?" he asked the hobbit, watching the Ranger with wary eyes.

"He is more than fine," the cloaked figure gave Merry a push forward towards the inn. Nob stared at the tall figure with wide eyes. His character was more eerie than Strider. "I advise you stop gaping and head back to the Pony." He ushered the stumbling and shaking hobbit forward. The one with the lantern lifted it up to try to look at the face of the Big Folk. "Better not stray Nob." 

The hobbit stared as they passed and jolted to his senses, hurriedly following behind the two. Aerial walked into the inn, leading the hobbit to the parlor where he knew Strider was. He opened the door and stepped in, pushing Merry in front. "I have seen them, Frodo! I have seen them! Black Riders!"

The small Ranger moved to stand next to Strider, a good bit shorter than the Ranger with his hood cast back. "Black Riders!" Frodo cried. "Where?"

"Here. In the village. I stayed indoors for an hour. Then as you did not come back, I went out for a stroll. I had come back again and was standing just outside the light of the lamp looking at the stars. Suddenly I shivered and felt that something horrible was creeping near; there was a sort of deeper shade among the shadows across the road, just beyond the edges of lamplight. It slid away at once into the dark without a sound. There was no horse."

"Which way did it go?" asked Strider, bursting out sharply.

Merry's head swung around to the stranger, noticing the two cloaked figures standing side by side for the first time since he entered. "Go on," Frodo nodded. "This is a friend of Gandalf's. I will explain later."

"It seemed to make off up the Road, eastward," the hobbit replied. "I tried to follow. Of course, it vanished almost at once, but I went round the corner and on as far as the last house on the Road."

Strider exchanged glances with the hooded figure to his right. He nodded as the story was correct. "You have a stout heart, but it was foolish." 

"I don't know," Merry said slowly as if he was unsure of himself. "Neither brave nor silly, I think. I could hardly help myself. I seemed to be drawn somehow. Anyway, I went, and suddenly I heard voices by the hedge. One was mutter; the other was whispering, or hissing. I couldn't hear a word that was said. I did not creep any closer, because I began to tremble all over. The I felt terrified and I turned back, and was just going to bolt home, when something came behind me and I…I fell over." 

"I found him," the hooded Ranger nodded to Merry. "He was near Bill Ferny's house. When I roused him he spoke some gibberish and I took him back here and on the way we encountered Nob." Aerial's voice startled the hobbits, it was low and eerie, almost unreal. "Nob, arrange the rooms as though they have been occupied." The hobbit nodded and disappeared into the rooms.

"I am afraid it is true," Merry sighed. "I had an ugly dream, which I can't remember, and I went to pieces. I don't know what came over me."

"I do," Strider began to pace a bit in front of the comfortable fire, the orange light flickering across his travel worn features. "The Black Breath. The Riders must have left their horses outside, and passed through the South-gate in secret. They will know all the news now, for they have visited Bill Ferny; perhaps that Southerner was a spy as well. Something may happen in the night before we leave Bree." 

"What will happen?" Merry asked. "Will they attack the inn?"

Strider shook his head and his companion took a seat on a bench. "No I think not," he said. "They are not all here yet. And in any case that is not their way. In the dark and loneliness the are the strongest; they will not openly attack a house where there are lights and many people- not until they are desperate. Not while all the long leagues of Eriador still lie before us. But their power is in terror, and already some in Bree are in their clutch. They will drive these wretches to some evil work Ferny, and some of the strangers, and, maybe the gatekeeper too. They had words with Harry at West-gate on Monday. I was watching them. He was white and shaking when they left him." 

Frodo sighed. "We seem to have enemies all around. What are we to do?"

"Stay here, and do not go to your rooms! They are sure to have found out which those are. The hobbit-rooms have windows looking north and close to the ground. We will all remain together and bar this window and the door. But first Aerial and I will fetch your luggage."

The two Rangers left the room to find the hobbit's luggage and gear. They entered the room where Nob was finishing the disguises. He bid them good night and went to the parlor. "What do you think will happen?" Strider asked Aerial as they picked up the small bags. He picked up some of the Westernesse knives and unsheathed them, looking at them in the street light that filtered slowly through the windows. The knife gleamed in the light, old but as bright as fresh iron from the forge. The light reflected onto the ruffled beds where bolsters were hidden beneath the sheets to give the appearance of one sleeping there. 

"They will come tonight. We shall see what they do soon enough." the smaller Ranger had several of the packs slung on his arms and walked over to the door, leaving the rest of the gear for Strider. "Did Butterbur present a forgotten letter?" Strider turned his eyes to the Ranger, staring with his eyes a bit wider than usual. "I suppose so."  

Aerial disappeared from the room and the other Ranger shrugged, picking up the knives and such, closing the door behind him as he left. 

Early in the morning, the sound of hooves leaving and the wind whispering through the empty streets of Bree filled the dreams of many. Frodo awoke to find Strider, as he knew him best as, leaning out the window with the curtains and shutters cast back. The first light of day was reaching its fingers across the stable yard and filtered into the room. The hooded Ranger sat at his side, staring out the window. 

The hobbits were all woken and soon they all traveled back to their rooms. When they entered it, it was torn the pieces. The windows swung open, obviously forced open. The beds were overturned, the bolsters cut and ripped. Aerial knelt down beside the mess, running calloused fingers through the feathers and torn up sheets. The hobbits were relieved that they had stayed with Strider for the night rather than to have received a fate as the bedding did. 

It was soon discovered that the stables had been broken into and all the creatures had fled, ponies and horses alike. Merry had lost the five ponies he had taken with him from the Shire and a three hour delay was created as Bob, the stable hand, searched the town for some spare ponies. In the end, Bill Ferny had the only pony that could be found and was sold to them for thrice its price. It was a starved creature with bones sticking out here and there. Butterbur purchased the pony and paid Merry for his lost ones. He lost a great deal of money in the deal with Bill Ferny but made do. 

Several of the Southerners that had come into town had lost several horses and blamed Butterbur for the loss but the Southerner that had hung around Bill Ferny was missing. The mysterious character was a friend of no one's and a mystery on how he had come to Bree with the Southern party. 

They were packed and ready to leave at ten. Quite a crowd had been gathered to see them off and they set off on the main road as to not arouse suspicion that would have been founded if they disappeared from town into the wilderness. Strider was held in awe as he left with the hobbits, his shadow Aerial followed behind quietly. No one knew anything of the figure and whispered amongst themselves, pointing and shooting dark glances at times. Hobbits that took up with such strange characters, odd business going about these days. After they were out of sight of the stragglers and children who were curious, they continued on the road for several miles before Strider took them off the road and led them into the woods that surrounded it. 

They were to go towards Archet and bear right and pass it to the east. Then they were to steer straight over the wild lands to Weathertop or Amon Sûl. They would plunge straight through the muck of the Midgewater Marshes that would have been avoided if they took the Road but it was something they would deal with later.  

The forests in which they walked through were leafy and rich with the colors of autumn. Strider led the party, with Frodo close behind. Sam led the pony, sometimes walking beside his master until the invisible path became too small between the trees. Merry and Pippin hung behind Sam leaving a large gap between themselves and Aerial, who would disappear at times to reappear beside Strider or would fall into the woods, doing things to return minutes later. 

No sounds of the any life were heard minus the birds, foxes, and squirrels that sprinted from tree to tree and fluttered their feathers high in the azure sky. The weather was most pleasant, quiet and peaceful as they trekked through the trees. The next day they continued on their course eastwards. Three days after leaving Bree, they left the Chetwood. They came to a flat expanse of land, difficult to manage. They were drawing near the Midgewater Marshes.

They came upon pools with reeds and rushes in wide patches. Warbling birds filled the plant growth as they steered between the pools, stumbling over the damp and boggy ground. Their speed slowed down considerably and the going more dangerous. Strider led the hobbits and Aerial silently helped those who needed it. Since they had left Bree, the second Ranger had been quiet, only rarely speaking in hushed tones to the other Ranger. No one had seen yet what lay beneath his hood and the hobbits wondered if his appearance was indeed horrifying, twisted with scars and burns. 

The marshes became treacherous, no permanent trail for the Rangers to follow. Strider paused often watching the mess of pools and reeds, speculating the best path to proceed with. The smaller Ranger never helped with his decisions, standing to the back, waiting with the hobbits. As they deepened their passage, flies swarmed about their figures and the hobbits swatted them away with annoyance and midges clouded around them, nestling into their clothing and hair. Strider occasionally batted them away when they obscured his eyes but Aerial merely drew his hood further over his face and plodded on quietly behind Pippin who swatted constantly at the midges that attacked him. 

"I am being eaten alive!" he would cry at times. "Midgewater! There are more midges than water!"

"What do they live on when they can't get hobbit?" Sam asked scratching any exposed skin that had been nipped at. 

The party spent a miserable day in the Marshes. At night no one was able to rest for bugs of sorts bothered them and they twisted and turned in their sleep. The most annoying insects were the ones that were similar to crickets. They squeaked and squawked through the night unceasingly, thousands and thousands of them until the hobbits felt as though they would scream. 

The following day, they made more progress with midges still terrorizing the walkers of the marsh. At night, the cricket like creatures had left them. Sometime during the night, flashes of light danced across the sky. It was not the rising sun and curious, Frodo rose from where he was to sleep. 

"What is that light?" he questioned Strider who stood, staring off to the east. 

"I do not know," the ranger replied. "It is too distant to make out. It is like lightning that leap from the hills."

Frodo laid back down, eventually falling into an uneasy slumber. Aerial sat quietly at Strider's feet, unnoticed by Frodo, looking up at the sky. "I fear what it could be," his eerie voice whispered softly. Strider turned his gaze to him. "I feel as if it is Gandalf, warding off some danger or attack with his magic."

"It might just be a storm," Strider turned away from the hooded figure. 

"Or could it?" the taller ranger stopped and turned back to him. The hood was facing him and he could barely make out the features in the dim, almost non existent firelight.

"Why do you act the way you do around everyone but I?" he asked. 

The shadowed lips lifted up into a small smile. "It creates mystery." 

He shook his head, "You can be so cumbersome at times." 

On the fifth day, they made little progress as they left the reeds and murky pools behind them. The land rose upwards once more and they found themselves climbing most of the day. Eastwards, they began to see hills, the tallest of them separate from the rest. The top was slightly flattened and Strider stopped the party, Aerial coming up to his side. 

"That is Weathertop," the dark haired ranger said staring at the hill that stood above the others. "The Old Road, which we have left far away on our right, runs to the south of it and passes not far from its foot. We might reach it by noon tomorrow, if we go straight towards it. I suppose we had better do so." 

"What do you mean?" Frodo asked.

"I mean," the ranger replied, glancing back at the hobbit. He lifted his hand and pointed to the Road, "it is not certain what we shall find. It is close to the Road."

"But surely we were hoping to find Gandalf there?"

"Yes; but hope is faint. If he comes this way at all, he may not pass through Bree, and so he may not know what we are doing. And anyway, unless by luck we arrive almost together, we shall miss one another; it will not be safe for him or for us to wait there long. If the Riders fail to find us in the wilderness, they are likely to make for Weathertop themselves. It commands a wide view all round. Indeed, there are many birds and beasts in this country that could see us, as we stand here, from that hill-top. Not all the birds are to be trusted, and there are other spies more evil than they are." 

The hobbits glanced around themselves anxiously, Sam's eyes darted up to the sky, searching for a stray bird watching them closely with keen eyes. Aerial chuckled softly. "You do make me feel uncomfortable and lonesome, Strider!" the hobbit said, lowering his eyes from the pale sky.

"What do you advise us to do?" Frodo questioned.

"I think," he said slowly, after some time. His eyes darted over to his quiet companion who stood at his side, the wind daring to pull away the hood he covered his face with. But the hood did not move and he did not see his face. "I think the best thing is to go as straight eastward from here as we can, to make for the lines of hills, not for Weathertop. There we can strike a path I know that runs at their feet; it will bring us to Weathertop from the north and less openly. Then we shall see what we shall see." 

That day they walked along until the air chilled around them and the sun disappeared from the sky. The land was drier than the marshes were but mists still laid behind them from the marshes. Several birds sang mournful songs, eerie as the sun turned red to the west. 

Close to the end of day, they came to a stream that left from the hills to flow to the marshlands. They followed beside it, stepping on its banks for a guide. Night had crept into the world when they finally stopped their steps and they camped under some tall trees that grew beside the stream. In the lonely sky, the hills laid almost ominously clearly in their sight. The waxing moon slowly rose high into the sky and they set watch, Strider and Aerial seeming doing more watching than the hobbits. The shorter of the two, sitting in the tree branches cradling a bow in his lap.

Soon after sunrise, they set out again, the hills drawing nearer and nearer as they walked. A ridge former, rising high above their heads and occasionally it fell a bit, reaching to the eastern lands beyond their sight. Old stone work cluttered the ridge, or what appeared to be old stone work, perhaps the ancient workings of those that had guarded the spot. That night they camped at the western slope, it was the sixth day out from Bree, the fifth of October. 

The next morning a track greeted them, leading them to the right and southwards. It was well hidden, unseen from the hilltops above and the flat stretch of land they to the west. Weathertop soon neared, the old watch tower from the days before the Last Alliance. They path they trotted on served the forts along the walls. It was said that Elendil stood there, waiting for Gil-galad to come from the West. Now it was merely a tumbled ring of burned and broken stone. 

A bank led them up like a bridge on the northward slope of the hill. They climbed up about mid-day, making for the top while daylight was still there. They were no longer hidden by the stones that concealed them on the path and hurried up so as not to be seen though that was very hopeful in their exposed position. On the western side of Weathertop they found a sheltered hollow, where there was a bowl-shaped dell with grass climbing at its sides. Sam and Pippin were left there with the pony while the rest plodded up the hill to the top. 

There they found a ring of worn and broken stones, grass growing long on some of piles of stone. All around, the tall grass were burned, their white roots sat exposed in the sun. Standing at the rim of the ring, they saw around them the wide expanses of land, the Old Road cutting across the land like a ribbon, twisting about, disappearing off eastwards where there were mountains. 

Merry and Frodo began picking about the scorched ground looking about. Frodo walked about and soon lifted up a white stone, he called Strider over and Aerial quietly followed staring at his finding. Some scratches were carved into the flat side appearing roughly like: **I ً ****∙ III . "There seems to be a stroke, a dot, and three more strokes," the hobbit said and Merry gathered close to look over his shoulder. **

"The stroke on the left might be a G-rune, with thin branches," Strider said as he peered at the marks. "It might be a sign left by Gandalf, though one cannot be sure. The scratches are fine, and they certainly look fresh. But the marks might mean something quite different, and have nothing to do with us. Rangers use runes, and they come here sometimes." 

"What could they mean, even if Gandalf made them?" Merry questioned, turning to look at the tall Ranger before them.

"I should say," he replied, "that they stood for G3, and were a sign that Gandalf was here on October the third: that is three days ago now. It would also show that he was in a hurry and danger was at hand so he had no time or did not dare to write anything longer or plainer. If that be so, we must be wary." 

"I wish we could feel sure that he made the mars, whatever they may mean," Frodo said. "It would be a great comfort to know that he was on the way, in front of or behind us."

"I think he was here," Aerial took the stone away from Frodo's hand and held it for a moment. "I feel as though he was in danger, and it reminds me of the light we saw several nights ago in the eastern sky. He was attacked, I feel that is for sure. He is at Amon Sûl longer and we must make our way to Im- Rivendell as best as we can. Gandalf will be able to handle himself."

The two hobbits stared at the other Ranger, he tossed the stone up and caught it before setting it into the Frodo's hand once more. He might not have noticed, but his voice became clearer, less eerie and more musical as he spoke. Before he finished speaking it deepened and darkened, becoming what it once was. "How far is Rivendell?" Merry asked. The world seemed so large and vast from the crown of the hill. 

"A fortnight at least, for I do not think we will be able to use the Road," Strider replied looking out across the land. 

"A fortnight!" Frodo cried, he immediately lowered his voice as Aerial's head snapped over to look at him. "A lot may happen in that time."

"It may," Strider left the hobbit saying no more and began to circle the hill top. 

Frodo walked about the top of the hill as everyone else did. He felt lonely there, the quiet cold wind whispering about the stones. It was eerie and hollow as if the world was barren and faraway. He wished bitterly that he was safe in the Shire, not out on some adventure he didn't want anymore. He stared down the Road that would lead back to the Shire and suddenly spotted two black specks moving along it slowly going westward. Three more were creeping eastward to meet the two approaching. He gave a cry and ran to Strider.

"Look!" he pointed downwards at the dots. 

Strider flung himself on the ground behind the circle, casting Frodo down to his side. Aerial grabbed Merry's arm and dragged him towards the other ranger, creeping along the ground, fleeting from stone to stone until they were at the other's side. "What is it?" the other hobbit asked.

"I do not know, but I fear the worst," Strider replied not daring to look. 

"It is them, we have been found," Aerial said, staring right at the other Ranger. Strider's lips thinned and he looked back at the path towards the north side of the hill.

They joined Sam and Pippin soon enough who had set up a fair camp. It was decided that the party could not move, for moving would expose them further to the Riders. The Riders could sense the rings presence, as creatures could feel theirs. The horses they rode and the spies they find see enough for them as though they cannot see as well. 

"I there no escape then?" Frodo asked, looking about him desperately. "If I move I shall be seen and hunted! If I stay, I shall draw them to me!" 

Strider gently laid his hand on his shoulder. "There is still hope. You are not alone. Let us take this wood that is set ready for the fire as a sign. There is little shelter or defense here, but fire shall serve for both. Sauron can put fire to his evil uses, as he can all things, but these Riders do not love it, and fear those who wield it. Fire is our friend in the wilderness."

They lit a fire and prepared a meal in a sheltered corner of the dell. After some time, Strider began to tell the tale of Tinúviel. The hobbits watched with eager faces as they listened to the story. Aerial laid on his back staring up at the dark starry night, aside from the group and away from the fire. That part of his face that was not covered by his hood was silhouetted by the firelight but still unseen. No one paid him any heed as they watched Strider tell his tale above the red glow of the fire. 

The waxing moon slowly rose as the story ended. They stretched a bit and moved about. "Look!" Merry said. "The Moon is rising: it must be getting late."

Aerial leapt to his feet softly, crouched with a hand on the hilt of his blade. Strider cast him a glance but the hobbits paid no heed to him. Sam and Merry walked away from the fire while Frodo and Pippin sat beside the fire. Aerial appeared at Strider's side. "On the crest," he whispered softly and Strider nodded, seeing the figure at the crest if the dell slowly approaching.  

Frodo shivered and gathered closer to the fire as a dread stole over his heart. Suddenly Sam came running back from the edge of the dell. "I don't know what it is," he said, gasping a bit for breath, "but I suddenly felt afraid, I durstn't go outside the dell for any money; I felt something creeping up the slope."

"Did you _see anything?" Frodo asked, springing straight to his feet, shivering a bit in fear._

"No, sir. I saw nothing, but I didn't stop to look."

"I saw something," Merry spoke up standing beside Sam in the light of the fire; "or I thought I did- away westwards where the moonlight was falling on the flats beyond the shadow of the hill-tops, I _thought there were two or three black shapes. They seemed to be moving this way."_

"Keep close to the fire, with your faces outward!" Strider ordered in a cry. They were found already, there was no more concealing. "Get some of the longer sticks ready in your hands."

They sat there, in silence all tense with alertness. They stared blankly into the shadows as a cold slowly stole over their bodies. Everything was silent…waiting…watching. Frodo longed to break the silence, the air seemed to push against him making the waiting unbearable. Time passed slowly as they searched for a sign of movement.

"What's that?" Pippin gasped.

Over the lip of the dell, they felt a shadow rise. More seemed to rise at the same time, growing taller and taller. Three of four tall black figures stood on the slope, look upon the small group around the fire. They seemed like so dark in the shadows like a void of blackness in the dark. Frodo thought he heard a faint hiss and something rippled through the air with a piercing chill. The figures advanced as terror overcame Pippin and Merry. The two hobbits threw themselves to the ground with a cry of fear, Sam shrinking at Frodo's side as though he could protect him. 

Frodo longed to put on the ring, disregarding any warnings that might have been given to him. It was his only form of escape, the only way he could survive this trap. To vanished was the only answer. Sam looked up at Frodo as he struggled within himself, longing to feel the cold heavy gold upon his finger. He reached up and slowly withdrew the chain that hung from his neck. He slid the ring upon his forefinger. 

The world remained dark and dim, eerie with a force that pushed against him so strongly it threaten to whisk him away into nothingness. The dark figures were terribly clear. There were five of them, two on the top of the dell, three approaching them slowly. They wore long grey robes, with helms of silver placed upon their heads and in their haggard hands were swords made of steel. Their white faces were burned with keen seeing eyes that focused on him and pierced through the hobbit as they turned and rushed towards him. He drew his own sword and held it with a shaking hand. Two of the approaching figures halted and the third moved closer. He was taller, his long hair gleamed in a light that surrounded only it and he wore a crown upon his head. He held in one hand a long sword and in other carried a knife. The knife and his hand glowed with their own pale light, brighter than anything else. Springing forward, the Nazgûl bore down on the hobbit.

At that moment Frodo threw himself on the ground and cried out, _"O Elbereth! Githoniel!" He struck down at the feet of his enemy. He felt a pain like a poisoned dart, pierce his shoulder and he let out a shrill cry as the cold seeped into his skin. He swooned through a swirling mist and Strider leapt out of the darkness carrying flaming torches of wood in his hands. Frodo slipped the Ring from his finger and closed his hand upon it as the world disappeared slowly. _

The last thing he saw was a face of unearthly beauty lean over his own, golden hair cascading around her like a golden water fall and wide blue eyes, bluer than the deepest and purest stream. Her voice was musical yet desperate voice crying out;  

~*~

WOW! That was loooonnnngggg. I'm glad that a lot of you liked it so far, considering your response from the Prologue. I hope this meets up with your expectations. Not all that happens will be particularly as expected and I won't be following the book so closely as chapters start moving along. I hope you like the story so far. Gosh this chapter was long… 


	3. Flight to the Ford

Celes : The reason why Usagi is in the LotR world will be explained later or sooner depending on how you see time. About romance, I am considering some romance but I'm torn between two pairings. (and no Aragorn/Usagi is not a choice…I see that a bit…wrong?)

1 Name change Strider = Aragorn, Aragorn = Strider.

2  Name change Aerial = Rómensir, Rómensir = Usagi, Usagi = Rómensir, Rómensir = Aerial, Aerial = Usagi, Usagi = Aerial, get it?

I will be including possible SAT words into this fic now, trying to at least. It'll be hard for me. Ane-chan came up with it and is writing an IY fic with the idea. I'm rather stubborn and don't want to write a chapter that is forced, stuff that's forced for me kind of well don't turn out very well. So SAT words will be in bold, there are a lot of one's you might already know but I'll throw them around too. If the fic gets too weird with them, I'll stop. Use the dictionary function on ff.net to help understand them. If you're reading this on my site, get a dictionary yourself (not to be mean) sometimes it helps looking through a dictionary because you have to remember the word your looking for so it'll stick in your mind better than pointing and clicking.

**Dawn River- Chapter 2**

_October 6, 3018__ TA_

_"__Lasto beth nin. Tolo dan nan galad!" _Her hands grasped the fallen hobbit's shoulders as hard as they could, shaking him wildly._ "Lasto beth nin! Tolo dan nan galad!"_

"Rómensir!" Aragorn1  fell beside the golden haired girl. Her long golden hair that had once been bound by the dark hood of her cloak flowed freely down her shoulders. His hands took the hobbit away from the girl. He placed his hand on the hobbit's forehead and he immediately passed the hobbit back to the girl. 

_"Ho __fîr!" _Rómensir 2 cried out, grasping onto Aragorn's arm. He immediately pulled away, turning away from the girl.

"I must find some Athelas, it will slow whatever damage the blade has done to him. And then where the Nazgûl have gone, I do not know how safe we are," he took up the flaming torch he had carelessly tossed aside after he had temporarily scared away the Nazgûl. "Stay close to the fire, all of you and Rómensir-"

_"__Ada__! Gerin Athelas," _she proceeded to dig through her pocket. The Ranger stopped walking and turned to look at the girl. She pulled out triumphantly a few crumpled and dried leaves. She held them out to her father. _"Sí."_

He grabbed them from her hand hurriedly and threw them into a pot of boiling water that was sitting on the fire. "Wash his wounds with that. I am going to find some fresh ones," he turned and disappeared into the night instantly. She watched him with her eyes until he was gone from her sight and she turned to the hobbit in her arms. The other three halflings were watching her with wide eyes. Her fair face was consumed with worry but she smiled **morosely at them nonetheless. **

"Do not be afraid, I will not hurt you nor your friend," she beckoned the hobbits closer to her with her slender fingers and her **conciliatory voice that promised comfort. They obeyed as if under an enchantment, watching her still as if she was a strange creature they had never seen before. "I am sure that you have many questions, I shall answer them as best as I can."**

She took the boiling pot of water away from the fire and tore a cleanest piece of her cloak to wash Frodo's wound with. She worked as questions began to form in the hobbit's mind. "Are you an elf?" Sam asked.   

A smile danced across her features. "I am far from an elf, Master Gamgee," she replied. She narrowed her eyes briefly at the place in which the hobbit had been stabbed and muttered to herself softly. 

"Then what are you?" Pippin questioned. 

"I am human, as father is." 

"Strider is you're father? He looks no older than you," Merry remarked as another smile played on the girl's face. 

"He is older than he seems, Master Brandybuck." She sighed and paused washing the wound, setting the rag into the pot. "Master Took, would it be possible for you to put more wood upon the fire? It will stave off the Nazgûl." The hobbit immediately did her bidding without question. He returned nearly instantly, tossing a batch of wood upon the fire and it flickered brightly in reply. 

Frodo eventually woke, blinking his eyes, his fingers clutching the ring still. The fire burned brightly and he was wound in warmth, a soft voice singing to him. His three companions were watching him with wide eyes, sitting close to him. "What has happened? Where is the pale king?" he asked suddenly with a desperate edge to his voice. 

They hobbits were overjoyed to see him well and aware, not understanding his words at all. He soon discovered from their ranting that black shadows like voids had descended upon him before he disappeared from their sight. They had remarked that it was Aerial who had found him, crying out words in elvish. "Where is he? Where is Strider?" he questioned, swinging his head from side to side. 

"I am here," a familiar soft voice said to him. He lifted his head to see the **occult image he had seen before darkness consumed him. "Father has left in search for the Nazgûl, he shall return soon so do not fear Master Frodo. Fear not of the pale king, for Aragorn has frightened him away and your words of Elbereth have done so too. They fear the name of Elbereth."**

Frodo stared at the woman who cradled him in her arms. "Who are you?" asked he.

"I am Rómensir, but I'm sure you know me as Aerial." 

"Aerial was a man was he not?" 

She laughed and shook her head. "The folk of Bree assume much at times." 

Suddenly a shadow stepped out from the rest and descended down to the fire. Sam jumped to his feet, his sword shining brightly in the firelight but it was Aragorn who knelt down beside Rómensir. "I am not a Black Rider, Sam," he said gently glancing at the boiling pot of water. He took Frodo from Rómensir's arms. "Nor in league with them. I have been trying to discover something of their movements but I have found nothing. I cannot think why they have gone and do not attack again. But there is no feeling of their presence anywhere at hand."

"Perhaps they are hiding," Rómensir replied. "Or the wound they have inflicted upon the Ringbearer is more than enough for them." Aragorn's head swung to face the girl who sat staring into the fire. "I feel as though the blade that has pierced him was dark, a dark blade for the servants of Mordor. He is fading, slowly but he is," she whispered softly so only the Ranger could hear. A troubled look passed over his face and he stood quickly. 

"Keep the fire going and keep him warm," the Ranger passed back the hobbit. He leaned close to the girl's ear. "They have withdrawn for now then and will attack once more when we cannot flee. Keep him safe." He turned, his cloak making a noise behind him, and disappeared into the dark night. 

Frodo had fallen asleep once more, Rómensir cradling him in her arms still. Occasionally she would murmur soft words in Elvish and the wound in his arm would hurt less, the cold fading just a bit. The other hobbits would come occasionally, bathing the wound in the bit of Athelas they had. The day was dawning, the sky turning grey and the dell was slowly growing out of its shadows. 

It was then Aragorn returned, stepping towards the camp they had made. "Look!" he exclaimed suddenly, picking up a black cloak that had been shrouded in the darkness of night. He brought it over to the fire where the hobbits sat around with grim and melancholy looks upon their faces. He shook the cloak out and a big of metal clattered to the ground but he paid no heed. "This was the stroke of Frodo's sword," he said. "The only hurt that it did to his enemy, I fear for it is unharmed, but all blades perish that pierce that dreadful king." There was a slash above the lower hem where Frodo's blade at struck. 

"And more deadly to Frodo was this!" He held up the long thin knife that had clattered to the ground, its edge notched and the point broken. As he held it in the growing light, the blade appeared to melt and vanished into smoke. Soon only the hilt was left within Aragorn's hand. "Alas," he shook his head slowly and looked at the wounded hobbit. "It was an accursed knife that dealt the wound. Few now have the skill in healing to match such evil weapons. But I will do what I can."

He began to sing a slowly in a strange tongue, sitting down beside the hobbit. Within a few moments, the cloaked girl began to join in, her voice soft and sweet. They drew the song to a close and Aragorn removed from a pouch several long leaves of a sweet smelling plant. "These leaves," he said, "I have walked far to find; for this plant does not grow in the bare hills; but in the thickets away south of the Road I found it in the dark by the scent of its leaves." He crushed a leaf between his fingers, the sweet and pungent fragrance stronger than it was earlier. "It is fortunate that I could find it, for it is a healing plant that the Men of the West brought to Middle-Earth. _Athelas _the named it, and it grows now sparsely and only near places where they dwelt or camped of old; and it is not known in the North except to some of those who wander in the Wild. It has great virtues, but over such a wound as this its healing powers may be small." 

He placed several of the leaves into the boiling water, the aroma filling the air and clearing the minds of all who sat beside the fire. The Ranger began to bathe Frodo's wound in the water, the pain slowly diminishing and the cold faded a bit. Although the pain was no longer throbbing, he wasn't sure if he would be able to stand, much less journey. Although Rómensir was against him being moved far, she agreed with her father that he had to leave Weathertop, fast. 

They hurriedly ate and packed whatever had been taken out of their packs. They had to remove the baggage from the pony's back and distributed it between everyone except for Frodo. The hobbit could not walk properly and was to be carried by the pony for the remainder of their journey. The poor creature had grown since they had left Bree, no long merely skin and bones. 

The hobbits, humans, and the pony began their journey once more, hurrying along the hills to the edge of the Road. Crossing the Road with fear they listened to two cries, **lurid voices screaming into the wind. Soon they came to a wide barren grassland with spurts of trees growing in their stunted way. The coarse grass tugged at their cloaks and the greyness of the world seemed lonely and ****banal. They spoke rarely, Rómensir covered her bright golden hair with her cloak once more.  At times she would silently nudge one of the hobbits along as they began to slow with their heavy burden. The ****lassitude was ****pervasive, Aragorn himself appeared tired and worn. **

For four long days they trudge through the unchanging scenery. Frodo's pain would grow during the day but when they stopped to rest, Rómensir would always speak to him in elvish and it would diminish a bit, the pain coming back the next day stronger than before. But at night, they huddled together afraid. They feared that the shadows would leap alive and descend upon them. Aragorn was constantly on guard at the night hours, his head snapping over to the source of any sound, leaves and grasses blowing in the wind or the sound of a hobbit shifting a bit in his place.   

By the next two days they had turned their course north-eastwards, the land rising up once again. To their right a river gleamed in the morning sunshine and another river beyond that in a stony valley. "I am afraid we must go back to the Road here for a while," Aragorn said with a small sigh. "We have now come to the River Hoarwell, that the elves call Mitheithel. It flows down out of the Ettenmoors, the troll-fells north of Rivendell, and joins the Loudwater away in the South. Some call it the Greyflood after that. It is a great water before it finds the sea. There is no way over it below its sources in the Ettenmoors, except by the Last Bridge on which the Road crosses. 

"What is that other river we can see far away there?" Merry questioned, shielding his eyes from the sun as he looked to the east. 

"That is Loudwater, the Bruinen of Rivendell," Aragorn replied. "The Road runs along the edge of the hills for many miles from the Bridge to the Ford of Bruinen. But I have not yet thought how we shall cross that water. One river at a time! We shall be fortunate if we do not find the Last Bridge held against us."

In the early morning of the next day, after much shuffling back and forth, scouting along the Road, they came to the Last Bridge. Dreading to face the Black Riders, they took cover in a thicket at the roadside while Aragorn went forth to explore. He came back, clutching something tight in his hand. "I can see no sign of the enemy, and I wonder very much what that means. But I have found something very strange." Here he opened his hand and a single pale-green jewel glimmered within. "I found it in the mud in the middle of  the Bridge. It is a beryl, an elf-stone. Whether it was set there, or let fall by change, I cannot say; but it brings hope to me. I will take it as a sign that we may pass the Bridge; but beyond that I dare not keep to the Road, without some clearer token." 

They proceeded across the Bridge unscathed. The river moved swiftly, bringing the sound of the water to their ears.  As soon as their feet reached the other side, the moved off the Road once more. Soon the hobbits were lost in the tall dark trees that surrounded the forest, Aragorn moving swiftly as Rómensir led the pony beside her. Time passed and as they moved further, the hills began to rise and upon a ridge or outcropping of rock there were ancient walls of stone and ruins of tower possessing an ominous appearance. 

Frodo sat atop of the horse, wrapping his cloak tight around his body. He had time to think as the pony steadily plodded along, remembering what Bilbo had said of his own journey. Near the Troll wood, there had been threatening towers on the hills to the north. He wondered if they were near the spot of Bilbo's first true adventure. "Who lives in this land?" he asked. "And who built these towers? Is this troll-country?"

"No!" Aragorn swung his head to look at the hobbit. "Trolls do not build. No one lives in this land. Men once dwelt here, ages ago; but none remain now. They became an evil people, as legends tell for they fell under the shadows of Angmar. But all were destroyed in the war that brought the North Kingdom to its end. But that is now so long ago that the hills have forgotten them, though a shadow still lies on the land."

"Where did you learn such tales, if all the land is empty and forgetful?" Pippin asked. "The birds and beasts do not tell tales of that sort."

"The heirs of Elendil do not forget all things past," Aragorn replied; "and many more things than I can tell are remembered in Rivendell."

"Have you often been to Rivendell?" Frodo questioned.

"I have, as has Rómensir," Aragorn replied. "I dwelt there once, and I still return when I may. There my heart is; but it is not my fate to sit in peace, evening the fair house of Elrond." 

Rómensir lowered her head a bit, not commenting on the words of her father. It wasn't fair. Her father was mortal as she was, but one day she would be old with grey hair rather than golden while his would be vibrant. When her countenance would be old and wrinkled, his would be young and fair. She nudged Pippin to walk a bit faster. With a short sigh beneath her breath she shook her head to clear it of her thoughts. 

As time passed, the Road and river became hidden, a long **stoic and silent valley looming before them. The trees grew with old and twisted roots the hung from cliffs and clawed at their feet. The hobbits grew weary, even the two Rangers were not ****indefatigable. The pathless country was difficult to navigate, encumbered by fallen trees and crumbling rocks. After two days the wind began to blow from the West bringing with it rain. By nightfall, they were soaked thoroughly, their camp cheerless and ****insipid. **

Aragorn became anxious, occasionally stopping to talk to Rómensir in soft tones. Ten days from Weathertop and their provisions were running low, the rain never ceasing, placing a damper on the spirits of the party that had sunk so much after Frodo had been wounded. 

Frodo's wound had worsened, more painful than ever and he laid at nights tossing and turning listening fearfully to the night-noises. Rómensir did her best, singing to him elvish lullabies and chanting in the tongue for longer in a small attempt to ease the pain. What had helped the day before was no longer usefully and she had to work longer and harder for the same affect. He fell asleep listening to her soft voice with Aragorn staring out into the darkness of the night.

By morning the rain had ceased, the clouds were still dark and ominous but occasionally the azure sky would steal between the clouds. After their cold breakfast, Aragorn left on his own to move higher up and scout. Rómensir lead the other to shelter under the cliff, singing and chanting to Frodo as much as she could, the pain barely diminishing. 

"We have come too far north," Aragorn said when he returned to the party, "and we must find some way to turn back southwards again. If we keep on as we are going we shall get up into the Ettendales far north of Rivendell. That is troll-country, and little known to me. We could perhaps find our way through and come to Rivendell from the north; but it would take too long, for I do not know the way, and our food would not last. So somehow or other we must find the Ford of Bruinen." 

The remainder of the day was spent climbing over rocky ground. They found a valley that guided them in a south-easterly direction; it was the way they wished to take. By the end of the day, their path had ended in a jagged edge across the sky and they had to choose between climbing and going back. They chose to climb the rocks which was difficult, Rómensir having difficulty leading the pony through the path they had followed. Soon Frodo had to dismount and attempt to climb by himself. It was difficult work for those with their extra burdens and Frodo with the constant pain in his shoulder. 

At he end of the day with the light nearly gone they reached to top. "We cannot go any further," Merry said to Aragorn. "I am afraid this has been too much for Frodo. I am dreadfully anxious about him. What are we to do? Rómensir's singing and chanting does not have any effect. Do you think they will be able to cure him in Rivendell, if we ever get there?"

"We shall see," Aragorn said after a short silence. "There is nothing more that I can do in the wilderness; it is chiefly because of his wound that I am so anxious to press on. But I agree that we can go no further tonight."

"What is the matter with my master?" Sam questioned quietly to Aragorn a bit later. "His wound was small, and it is already closed. There's nothing to be seen but a cold white mark on his shoulder."

"Frodo has been touched by the weapons of the enemy," Aragorn shed a glance onto Rómensir and Frodo, she was still close to her charge, "and there is some poison or evil at work that is beyond my skill to drive out. Rómensir is lucky to have slowed it so much. But do not give up hope, Sam!"

The night was cold on the ridge as Rómensir stared out into the darkness around the party. Her lips parted slowly and she began whispering into the air. Aragorn came to sit next to her, listening to her soft words but unable to grasp them. "He will be here soon."

In the early dawn Frodo awoke, his arm lifeless and his left side and shoulder icy cold to touch with pain sinking its claws into him. His vision was changing too, the trees and rocks shadowy and dim. There was no relief for this and Rómensir paced anxiously muttering in elvish and chanting fragments here and there. The morning began to dawn bright and clear, the light pale in the rain-washed sky. Aragorn left with Merry to survey the country from their height. They returned, Aragorn saying that they were in the right direction and he had caught glimpse of the Loudwater again. 

"We must make for the Road again," he stated Rómensir following him with her eyes as he doused the fire. "We cannot hope to find a path through these hills. Whatever danger may beset it, the Road is our only way to the Ford."

After they climbed down the other side of the ridge, Pippin began to lead a little bit ahead of the others. "There is a path here!" he cried suddenly. When they came up beside him there was a path that wound and faded over a hill-top. In places it was overgrown and others it was covered with rocks. They followed the path from some time, and as they came into the dark woods the path grew plainer and broader, their anxiety increasing. The oath led up to a door built into a low cliff. Behind it was a cave that Aragorn and Merry entered, the inside it was littered with broken bones and empty jars and broken pots. 

"Surely this is a troll-hole, if ever there was one!" Pippin cried. "Come out you to, and let us get away. Now we know who made this path and we better get off it quick."

"There is no need, I think," Strider said, stepping out into the sunlight. "It is certainly a troll-hole, but it seems to have been long forsaken. I don't think we need to be afraid. But let us go on down warily, and we shall see."

Pippin lead the group once more, Merry tagging along behind. Sam and Aragorn walked beside Rómensir and Frodo's pony. They had not traveled far before Pippin returned followed by Merry, They both had a look of terror painted onto their face. "There _are trolls!" Pippin panted. "Down in a clearing in the woods not far below. We got sight of them through the tree-trunks. They are very large!"_

"We will come and look at them," Aragorn said as Rómensir turned her head away, stifling a slight giggle. He bent down and picked up a stick, Frodo silent, and Sam looking as scared as Merry and Pippin were.

High in the sky the sun shone down and in the clearing stood three trolls: three very large trolls. One was stooping and the other two stared at him. Aragorn walked forward unconcerned. "get up old stone!" he cried and broke his stick upon the stooping troll. Nothing happened and there was a gasp from the hobbits. After a moment, Frodo began laughing. "Well!" he sighed after his bit of merriment. "We are forgetting our family history! These must be the three that were caught by Gandalf, quarreling over the right way to cook thirteen dwarves and one hobbit."

"I had no idea we were anywhere near the place!" Pippin exclaimed. Bilbo and Frodo had told the story several times, ensuring that everyone knew it well. He had never more than half believed it even with the stone statues standing right before him. 

"You are forgetting not only your family history, but all you ever knew about trolls," Aragorn sat down with a smile. "It is broad daylight with a bright sun, and yet you come back trying to scare me with a tale of live trolls waiting for us in this glade! In any case you might have noticed that one of them has an old birds nest behind his ear. That would be a most unusual ornament for a live troll." 

They spent lunch in the glade, moving on in the afternoon, perhaps following the same path Bilbo, Gandalf, and the dwarves had followed. After a few miles they came out on the top of a bank above the Road. At this point the Road had left the Hoarwell far behind in its narrow valley. It wound eastwards towards the Ford and the Mountains. Aragorn pointed a stone in the grass roughly cut and weathered dwarf-runes upon it. "There!" Merry cried. "That must be the stone that marked the place where the troll's' gold was hidden. How much is left of Bilbo's share, I wonder, Frodo?"

Frodo looked at the stone, silently wishing that Bilbo had brought back no treasures. "None at all," he said with a sigh, not because of the parted money. "Bilbo gave it all away. He told me he did not feel it was really his, as it came from robbers." 

In the long shadows of evening, they climbed down the bank and turning off to the left as fast as they could. Soon the hills covered the fading sun and a sound brought sudden fear into their hearts. The clomping of hooves could be heard coming down the Road. Rómensir straightened. "He is here."

They plunged up a slope into a small patch of thick-growing hazels and peered out from the bushes. The Road was barely visible, faint and grey in the fading light, a good bit below the. Soon a faint tinkling of small bells came to dance around their ears. "That does not sound like a Black Rider's horse!" Frodo whispered fiercely. The other hobbits listened, hoping that it was not a Black Rider but were still fearful and suspicious. Rómensir slowly stood and climbed down the slope slowly as Sam attempted to wave her back. 

Suddenly a white horse came into view, gleaming in the shadows running swiftly. Its headstall flickered and flashed studded with gems like living stars and the rider's cloak streamed behind in the wind of speed. Frodo thought that a light was shinning through the form and rider. Aragorn sprang forth following Rómensir and together they dashed to the Road, Aragorn leaping with a cry and Rómensir crying, "_Daro!"_

The rider reined his horse and looked towards Rómensir and Aragorn. When he saw them the hobbits heard him calling out, "_Ai na vedui Dúnadan! Mae govanmen!" His clear ringing voice left no doubt in their hearts: the rider was of the Elven-folk. He began speaking quickly and urgently to Aragorn and Rómensir lifted her hand to beckon the hobbits down. _

"This is Glorfindel, who dwells in the house of Elrond," Aragorn said.

"Hail, and well met at last," said the Elf-lord to Frodo. "I was sent from Rivendell to look for you. We feared that you were in danger upon the road." 

"Then Gandalf has reached Rivendell?" Frodo asked hopefully.

"No. He had not when I departed; but that was nine days ago," the elf replied. "Elrond received news that troubled him. Some of my kindred journeying in your land beyond the Baranduin, learned that things were amiss, and sent messengers as swiftly as they could. They said that the Nine were abroad, and that you were astray bearing a great burden without guidance, for Gandalf had not returned. There are few even in Rivendell that can ride openly against the Nine; but such as there were, Elrond sent out north, west, and south. It was thought that you might turn far aside to avoid pursuit, and become lost in the Wilderness. 

"It was my lot to take the Road, and I came to the Bridge of Mitheithel and left a token there, nigh on seven days ago. Three of the servants of Sauron were upon the Bridge, but they withdrew and I pursued them westward. I came also upon two others, but they turned away southward. Since then I have searched for your trail. Two days ago I found it, and followed it over the Bridge; and today I marked where you descended from the hills again. But come! There is no time for further news. Since you are here we must risk the peril of the Road and go. There are five behind us, and when they find your trail upon the Road they will ride after us like the wind. And they are not all. Where the other four may be, I do not know. I fear that we may find the Ford is already held against us." 

As the evening darkened, Frodo felt a great weariness overtake him. The mist before his eyes had darkened and a shadow was becoming his friends and himself. A pain assaulted him and he grasped Sam's arm as he swayed. "My master is sick and wounded," Sam said angrily, drawing the elf's attention to him. "He can't go on riding after nightfall. He needs rest."

Glorfindel caught Frodo as he sank to the ground and taking him gently I his arms he looked in his face with grave anxiety. Aragorn briefly told of the attack upon Weathertop and Rómensir spoke hastily of what she had done for Frodo. Aragorn drew the hilt, which he had kept, and handed it to the Elf. He shuddered as he took it but observed it intently.  "There are evil things written on this hilt," he said, "though maybe your eyes cannot see them. Keep it, Aragorn, till we reach the house of Elrond! But be wary, and handle it as little as you may! Alas! the wounds of this weapon are beyond my skill to heal. I will do what I can – but all the more do I urge you now to go on without rest." 

He searched the wound on Frodo's shoulder with his fingers, and his face grew graver, as if what he learned disquieted him. But Frodo felt the chill lessened and a bit of warmth brushed from his shoulder to his hand and the pain eased. The dusk grew lighter as if a veil had been removed. He saw his friends' faces more clearly and new hope and strength returned. 

"You shall ride my horse," Glorfindel said. "I will shorten the stirrups up to the saddle-skirt, and you must sit as tight as you can. But you need not fear: my horse will not let any rider fall that I command him to bear. His pace is light and smooth; and if danger presses too near, he will bear you away with a speed that event he black steeds of the enemy cannot rival."

"No, he will not!" said Frodo. "I shall not ride him, if I am to be carried off to Rivendell or anywhere else, leaving my friends behind in danger."

Glorfindel smiled. "I doubt very much," he said, "if your friends would be in danger if you were not with them! The pursuit would follow you and leave us in peace, I think, It is you, Frodo, and that which you bear that brings us all in peril." 

Frodo had no reply and mounted Glorfindel's white horse. The pony was laden with the others' burdens so they could march lighter and swifter. The hobbits found it difficult to keep up with the **indefatigable feet of the Elf. It was not until the grey of dawn did he allow them to stop, Pippin, Merry, and Sam nearly asleep on their legs. Strider seemed to sag his shoulders, weary as everyone else. Rómensir herself tried to keep awake as best as she could but her eyes drooped occasionally. Pausing to sleep a few yards from the road-side they fell asleep immediately, Glorfindel keeping watch. When the sun climbed high into the morning sky he woke the rest of his companions, pouring a liquor from his silver-studded flask of leather that renewed their strength and gave them new vigour.  **

They took to the Road again, Glorfindel hurrying them along constantly. With only two brief halts they covered nearly twenty miles and the Road began to bend right towards the valley bottom making for the Bruinen. There had been no signs of pursuit but Glorfindel paused often, listening carefully. Several times he spoke to Rómensir and Aragorn. Rómensir had fallen back into speaking in elvish no matter what language was spoken to her. 

It soon became clear that the hobbits could go no further and they paused. Frodo's pain had redoubled, Glorfindel whispering chants in an attempt to ease his pain but they did nothing now, Rómensir becoming troubled. The hobbit welcomed the night, the world seemed less pale and empty, more alive. _"Thinnol," Rómensir whispered and sat back, letting Glorfindel finish his chanting. _

"_I lû anglennol," the elf replied. "__Reviatham."_

Rómensir rubbed the area just above her ear, feeling a sharp pain at the spot. "_Hain __tôl," she said, and said nothing more._

The woke early to attend their journey once more. "Our peril will be greatest just ere we reach the ford," Glorfindel said, "for my heart warns me that the pursuit is now swift behind us, and other danger may be waiting by the Ford." 

The Road began moving downhill with patches of grass forming at either side where the hobbits walked to ease their feet. In late afternoon they came to where the Road went into the dark shadows of pine-trees and plunged into the cutting with steep moist walls of stone. Echoes ran around them as they moved, and the sound of many feet following theirs. All at once the Road ran out from the end of the tunnel into the open and before them laid a flat mile before the Ford of Rivendell. On the other side was a steep brown bank with a winding path and beyond that there were mountains, peak beyond and above peak fading into the aging sky.  There was an echo of feet in the tunnel behind them; a rushing noise like the wind rising and pouring through the branches of trees. Rómensir screamed and clutched her head calling everyone's attention and Glorfindel paused to listen. "Fly!" he called, "Fly! The enemy is upon us!" 

The white horse sprang forward and the hobbits **dispersed down the slope, Glorfindel urging Aragorn to hurry who was now carrying Rómensir. They were half-way across the flat when the noise of horses galloping reached their ears and out from the trees rode a Black Rider. He reined his horse, halting his horse and swayed slightly in the saddle. Four followed him and Rómensir began to shake, her body quivering uncontrollably and jumbled words spilled from her lips. **

"Ride forward! Ride!" Glorfindel cried.

Frodo began to horse into a walk, feeling a reluctance keeping him from speeding the horse any faster. The riders seemed to be threatening statues upon a hill, dark and solid upon their great steeds. The land around them receded into a mist and he knew that they were silently commanding him to wait and stop. A fear and hatred began to stir within him and with his left hand upon the bridle he gripped the hilt of his sword and drew it with a flash of light dancing across the blade.

"Ride on! Ride on!" Glorfindel cried and called to his horse in the elf-tongue: _noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth!_

The horse sprung forward and sped down the last bit of the Road like the wind. At the same moment, the horses leapt down in pursuit. A terrible cry filled the air as he had heard back in Eastfarthing. It was answered and on the rocks and trees to the left, four other Riders came flying. Two galloped madly towards the hobbit as two road to the Ford to cut off any escape. They ran like the wind, growing larger and darker. Frodo glanced behind his shoulder and could no longer see his friends. The Riders behind began to fall back. Their horses were no match for the white elf-horse. He looked forward once more and hope began to fade. It was impossible to reach the Ford before it was cut off by the other Riders who had lain in ambush. They were seen clearly now by his eyes, robed in white and grey with naked swords in their pale hands, helms upon their heads, Their cold eyes glittered with a dark light and they called to him in their cold voices. 

Fear stole into his mind and he no longer thought of the sword within his hand, no cry echoing from his mouth. He shut his eyes and clung to the horse's mane desperately, the wind whispering in his ears and the bells of the harness ringing shrilly. Deadly cold pierced him and with a last spurt like a flash of white lightening, the horse passed the foremost Rider as if the creature had wings.

Splashes of water entered his mind and rushed against his feet. He could feel the horse surge through the river and to the stony path on the other side, climbing up the steep bank. He was on the other side of the Ford, his pursuers still close behind. 

Asfaloth stopped at the top of the bank, neighing fiercely. The Nine Riders were at the water's edge below and the hobbit's spirit quailed beneath their faces, all turned to look at him. Nothing could prevent them from crossing the Ford as he had done and it was nearly useless to try to escape; the paths to Rivendell were foreign to them and it would be more than difficult to outrun the Nazgûl once more. He was commanded to a halt and a hatred began to stir within him but he was without the strength to refuse. 

The foremost Rider spurred his horse forward and it paused at the water, rearing up upon its hind legs creating an imposing image. Frodo lifted his sword with a difficulty, stretching to sit upright.

"Go back!" he cried. "Go back to the Land of Mordor, and follow me no more!" His voice was shrill and thin like a small helpless child. His enemies laughed at him in a chilling voice.

"Come back! Come back!" they called. "To Mordor we will take you!"

"Go back!" Frodo hissed in a whisper.

"The Ring! The Ring!" they cried and the leader urged his horse into the water, two other following close behind.

"By Elbereth and Lúthien the Fair," Frodo said lifting his sword higher, "you shall have neither the Ring nor me!"

The leader was halfway across the Ford, standing upon his stirrups, his hand raised. Frodo was stricken, his tongue about to cleave his mouth, his heart laboring. His sword broke and fell out of his quivering hand. The elf-horse reared and snorted as the foremost black horse almost set foot upon the shore.  

A roaring and rushing began to fill his ears, the sound of water rolling many stones. He dimly saw the river below raised and plumed into waves. White flames seemed to flicker across their crest and amid the waters he fancied to see white riders upon white horses galloping at full speed. The three Riders in the Ford were swept away like dust upon the wind. Those that were still upon the bank drew back in dismay, their horses leaping about uncontrolled. The menacing horses leapt forth into the water in their terror rather than away, bearing their riders with them. The piercing cries filled the air soon to be drowned out by the roaring river. Frodo felt himself falling and the roaring and confusion engulfed him. He heard and saw no more.

~*~

Wow…another chapter eh? Back into writing a bit but the going will be slow. Lots of hw and need to keep on top of my grades (hahaha) might be a bit until I get another update out. 


	4. Imladris

**Celes: **Well sure I'll stick translations but I'll but them at the beginning. I find that translations look kind of weird. 

This will become more Usagi/Rómensir based starting from this chapter but I'll still keep tabs on the Fellowship, maybe more on them than Usagi but you'll/we'll see. Help with pairings? I don't know, throw someone out there. No Hobbits and I'm not too sure if I really could right a pairing Gimli/Usagi, I'd be wayyy to weird for me. Oh yeah, Gandalf and Aragorn are off limits along with old or married men (ie. Celeborn, Théoden, or Denethor). Sauron is not a choice, same with Saruman, he falls into old men. 

That leaves Haldir, Faramir, Éomer, Legolas, and some other random people I'm too lazy to bother with.    

Oh uh, I'll stop the SAT word thing until further notice. Since I've only got someone saying that it was distracting. 

Oh yeah, my elvish will be FAR from perfect. Just trying to piece things together from the grammar guides and crappy vocab. lists I've dug up.

Chapter 1:

_Rómensir_: Dawn River ^^

_Alfiri! __Tol dan! Tol dan!_:  Don't fade! Come back! Come back!

Chapter 2:

_Lasto beth nin. Tolo dan nan galad!_: Hear my voice, come back to the light (might remember Elrond saying this, I'm a bum)

_Ho __fîr:_ He fades; He's fading

_Ada__! Gerin Athelas_: Father (daddy)! I have Athelas.

_Sí_: Here

_Daro!_: Stop!

_Ai na vedui Dúnadan! Mae govanmen!_: (This one was written by Tolkien) Ah (might remember from the books Legolas goes "Ai ai a balrog a balrog") by the dark Dúnadan! Well met!(?)  (I'm not too sure, my lists stink)

_Thinnol_: He fades (…I might have used this wrong)

_I lû anglennol_. _Reviatham_: The time approaches. We fly. (We will fly)

_Hain __tôl: They come. (They as in Nazgûl) _

Chapter 3:

_Rómensir demch?: _Rómensir, you [are] sad? (infinitive someone?)

_Ada__?:_ Father?

**Dawn River- Chapter 3**

_October 23, 3018__ TA_

Evening spread  its cloak across the elfin city of Rivendell. Long shadows began to grow across the stone courtyards and in the woods. Thinking back to the wild ride Frodo had to the ford, she cursed herself for her weakness, trembling in the face of the Nazgûl…the power they commanded over her and vowed to rid herself of the fear. She could be of no aid to anyone if she quivered and mumbled nonsense when they were near. She sat on the stone bench, her eyes transfixed on the darkening sky not reacting to the sounds of soft, light footsteps coming towards her. They paused behind her and she stared straight before her, though the person was behind her. _"Rómensir," her name rolled off easily from the elfin tongue, __"demch?" ___

"Yes," the girl replied.

"Why?" the elfin woman came around to sit beside the girl. "Why are you sad?"

She said nothing in reply, her eyes transfixed before her. Her weakness made her angry but her mortality brought her sorrow. "Arwen, the world is dying, my heart is burdened with the thoughts of death approaching."

"Rómensir, you still have many more years."

"After those years I will be forgotten." 

Arwen was said nothing. She could not help the girl for she was mortal, more mortal than the Dúnadan who lived far longer than a normal man. She spent the rest of the time with the girl sitting beside her in silence. Soon she disappeared from her side as quietly as she came and the moon began to shine across the sky, the creatures of the night coming out chittering and chattering. After several long hours by herself, she stood leaving the bench in the courtyard to wander through the city in the cooling autumn air, leaves falling from the high trees.

Before long she came to a staircase which led to one of the many gardens within and around the city. She began climbing the stairs slowly, not making a move to rush. There was no place to go, dinner the least of her concerns. Eventually she came to the top and there on a bench she spotted three elves conversing softly, their golden hair reflecting the moonlight. 

Rómensir continued walking glancing at them, catching the eyes of the one in the center for a fleeting moment. He nodded his head to her but paid her no attention afterwards. After passing the elves she came across someone sitting at a bench too, staring at the ground. It wasn't until she was a foot away did she realize it was her father and she ceased walking. _"__Ada__?"_

"Rómensir," he said, lifting his head, gesturing for the girl to sit beside him. She obeyed, sweeping her skirts aside as she sat. She wasn't familiar with dresses and skirts that she usually wore when she was in Rivendell, accustomed to the breeches and tunic she usually wore with her old heavy weather-stained cloak. "Arwen tells me you are sad." The girl sat silently at his side. "You fear to be forgotten?"

"I fear what I know is true."

"Rómensir, you will never be forgotten."  

"How do you know? You will one day be King of Gondor, what place do I have there? You are loved and needed by so many, I am worthless destined to die in a matter of years."

Aragorn said nothing, digging his nails into his palms. "So you let yourself wither away? All these years I have raised you for nothing?"

"I wish to die in peace without the troubles of the world burdening me. This business with the Ring is not of my concern. I am powerless to help, you however will go to aid them. This is one journey where I will not accompany you." 

"So you chose death."

She clenched her hands into fists. "It is not my destiny to do great things. My destiny lies in death, I will be forgotten by all," she said shortly, her tone still soft but anger was threatening to burst. She stood abruptly startling her father and stormed back where she came from. He watched as she disappeared from his view and lowered his head to stare at the stone path once more.

The following day, Frodo woke, the four hobbits scurrying around the city talking excitedly of everything. Rómensir walked with them occasionally, disappearing at times like she did when they were traveling to the elfin city. "She could pass for an elf, you know, if she only had the ears," Merry whispered to Frodo at one point. 

At one point, Rómensir had brought Glorfindel to walk with them too. The familiar tall elf peered down at the hobbits occasionally but never spoke to them. She disappeared shortly after arriving and never returned to walk with them. 

"Aragorn has spoken with me," Glorfindel said, her head snapping to look at him.

"Did he?" she inquired curiously.

The elf said nothing in return, walking beside her in silence. "What did he say?" 

"He does not understand why you chose to die so young as he still lives," he stopped walking, causing the girl to face him. "There is a part you have yet to play, Rómensir, and it begins when all ends. That is all we know." 

"What do you mean by that is all we know? Lord Elrond sees nothing?"

"No one sees anything of your future and what will come, not even the Mirror of Galadriel," his voice darkened. 

"But he has the gift of foresight. He must have perceived something. Is not the Mirror to see all?"

"Nothing, no one has seen anything. You are a misplaced piece or there are some other powers preventing our sight," he replied, his voice filled with suspicion. 

She didn't like his tone of voice. "You suspect me of being at Sauron's hand?" she questioned. Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak further. "How many other question my loyalties? Elladan? Arwen?" her voice became shrill as she rattled off names. "Lord Elrond? Lady Galadriel? My father?" 

"Rómensir!"

But she wasn't listening. The girl stormed away from the elf, her lips fixed in a straight line. Her stay at Rivendell was not going well at all. 

The feast set for the awakening of the brave hobbit was scheduled that night. Rómensir attended, the fact she had not attended many dinners made it quite a surprise. She sat far from Glorfindel, beside an Wood elf. He paid her no heed, as most people did not even notice her presence. Aragorn was not present at the table and she could not help but feel alone, Frodo the only other she could speak to far down the table. 

Spotting Arwen at the center of the table, she felt a rush of envy course through her veins. Arwen was revered by all, her likeness was that of Lúthien, and she was jealous of how so many people loved her, how she was able to steal her father's attention from herself. With a sigh, Rómensir picked at her food. She didn't care much for Arwen's presence when she was younger, rather she loved her as a mother. As time passed, she grew and knew that she would die one day and yet Arwen would live on, loved by her father. Hardly anyone knew she was alive, rarely did she keep the company of the elves when she would shed her traveling clothes for the elfin dresses. 

She felt strangely plain beside the fair elves in their flowing garbs and royal faces. "If you ate much less you would be as thin as a leaf," a voice filled with the elf form of humor came from her left, pulling her from her ravine. 

"I fail to see why an elf would bother with a mortal. My appetite has taken flight long before the feast began, lord elf." 

"You are quick with your tongue, fair maiden."

She glared at him and his eyes laughed at her. "Are you my father? I see no reason as to why you reprimand me."

"I do not reprimand but I will scold you as your father is not here. You are still too young to understand, one must watch you to ensure you do not trip and fall."

"And you are eyes for Lord Elrond to see if I will speak to Sauron in my spare moments?"

The laughter faded immediately from his eyes, and they aged before her own. "These are dark times, lady, and it is that here we must be wary to survive. But no, I do not observe your movements, it is you who chose a seat beside me rather than I chose a seat beside you."

Rómensir said nothing, feeling a blush of embarrassment begin to coat her face. "Forgive me for being sharp, lord elf." She finished off her plate and waited for Elrond to leave before leaving herself, it was only polite. A thought sprung to her mind, "You know of my father?" she asked.

He nodded, "Your father is well known to the elves, whether mortals do or do not. It is our business to know of your father for he could be the one to retake the throne of Gondor."

Elrond stood and the elf beside her followed as did most of the table. "Farewell, Rómensir."  

She watched as the unknown elf disappeared and suddenly realized that she had not told him her name. 

Frodo followed Elrond and Arwen as they left the table and crossed to another chamber. She sat there as fair as any other elf, but instead of the wisdom there was sorrow and hopelessness. She disappeared from his view and he turned away. She was no longer the mysterious companion of Strider as they traveled through the thick woods, her face no longer hidden, her voice no longer concealed. But even in the excitement and merriment of the feast, she was not happy and he couldn't help but wonder why. 

The next morning brought The Council of Elrond. Unable to attend, not wanting to either, Rómensir found herself pacing through the gardens, climbing up and down the stairs restlessly. She felt caged in the city, longing to return to the hidden paths only she and her father knew but not wanting to be in his presence. She still loved him but in her current state he seemed angry with her. She said only the truth, what she believed. She stopped pacing momentarily as a bell chimed through the city. Lunch already? 

The city was still rather quiet, most expected as the elves resided in it. It was rather uninteresting compared to the mortal villages and towns. Perhaps another reason why she felt caged, there was little life in this elfin city. Boring, was the way to describe it, jaded, hackneyed. Rómensir moved to return to the city, not for lunch, she would have that in her room. She was searching for the Hobbits. 

She had found Gandalf sitting in the window sill of their room, talking and had waited for him to leave before questioning him. He most likely had his information more accurate than the Hobbits did. When he did leave, he settled his hat onto his head and she ran to catch up to him, half tripping over her long skirts. "Gandalf!" she called and he paused turning around to look at her. 

"Ah Rómensir," he said with a smile. "Long has it been since we have had a nice long talk. Look at how you have grown, so tall now," he was lying of course, she was under five feet by a couple of inches. "And your hair, how do you conceal it when you and your father tramp through the wild?"

"Tease me naught, Gandalf. I come here to question you," she peered up at the old wizard, tilting her head back a bit. "How was the Council? Where is my father?"

"Ah the Council was most interesting to say the least. Much was discussed that can not be discussed further," he noticed how her chin jutted out slightly. "Your father has left to scout with his brothers. No one shall be leaving until the scouts return. We must move swiftly though, before Sauron may attack."

"But it will not be swift enough," the girl replied taking two steps for one of the wizard's. "Many will die before the ring is destroyed, perhaps you yourself Gandalf the Grey."

He glanced at her and she met his eyes. "Ah perhaps," he said after a moment. "But one can only see so much."

"But why can I see," she ceased walking and he turned to face her. "All believe that I spy for Sauron, my future is a mystery and yet I see yours, I see my father's. _Tell me Gandalf. What road lies before me? What will happen before I die?"_

"Not all can see as clearly as you do. Your role may be far more important than even than the Fellowship that will be forged. While the Fellowship will prevent the evil from spreading, you will keep those living alive and protect them in ways unimaginable. You are a gift, Rómensir, to those who expect it the least. Take my words into consideration, I cannot tell you all for I do not know all. You will discover the answers to your own questions soon." 

She didn't pursue him any further on the topic, getting information from the wizard would be more than a feat. They began walking once more. "Tell me of your journey to Imladris, Gandalf. Why did you not meet us in Bree?"

"Ah that we shall discuss, something you should have been at the Council for. Not only has my own journey been fascinating but there is a story of Gollum."

"Gollum!" she ceased moving and covered her mouth. She had spent much of her childhood with her father tracking the creature.

"Yes, I'm sure you want to hear all about it. Don't dwaddle Rómensir, come along." She took a few steps to catch up with the wizard. "An interesting story to say the least…"

~*~

Well…a very short chapter compared to the others. The next one should be longer as stuff get more interesting…I think.


	5. Farewell Imladris

Hahaha, interesting reviews. I have to say, I imagined Faramir a bit more dashing and handsome than he was in the movie. The knight with blond hair and blue eyes. XD I'm ok. Most of you are going for Legolas/Usagi but I think I'll wait a bit before I decide anything for sure. 

Dawn River-Chapter 4

_December 18, 3018_ TA__

A cold grey sunrise spread from window to window. The last decaying leaves scattered about in the winter wind, scrapping against the stone. Through the gloom of the early morning, the elf could pinpoint Aragorn, son of Arathorn upon the stone bench in the center of the courtyard. He stood beside the bench and rested his hand on the human's shoulder. "_Tirch abdîn._" [Look after her]

"_Band he_," Elrond replied. [She (will be) safe]

Aragorn stood up, brushing off the elf's hand as he did. "There is little hope that we will return, little hope that we will be able to destroy the One Ring."

"But there is still hope."

"Watch over her carefully, she is strong of heart, stubborn. Let her travel abroad from time to time, mainly in Eriador. Perhaps she could travel with Elladan and Elrohir. She does have quite an appetite; make sure she eats in the hall at times instead of merely her room. Make sure Glorfindel spends some time with her, she considers him a friend though lately she has been short with him. She loves Bilbo's stories too whether or not she shows it. And—"

"Aragorn," Elrond interrupted, "she will be well cared for." 

"She is my daughter," said Aragorn sharply. He stared at the lord elf for a moment before dropping his head. "I fear for her. She is young and yet she dreams of her death. She should be happy, dreaming of marrying, flirting with stable boys, laughing with other girls like her. But she has lived a life of a Ranger. She deserves more than this life, she deserves a life in a quiet town full of happiness and laughter. The life I have given her has been dark and secretive."

"You ask me to give her happiness and laughter, how can she find that here in Imladris? The elves are leaving; the shadow grows in the east. What will she do when we have all left?"

"If I live through this journey, send her to Gondor."

The Ranger spun on his heel, his cloak bellowing out behind him as he walked stiffly towards his room.

Rómensir sat beside the fire of Bilbo's room, humming to herself softly as she cleaned her sword. The four hobbits sat together, questioning Bilbo on his own journey long ago. Boromir, son of Denethor also stood in the room, shifting his gaze from the hobbits and Rómensir.  "You do not journey with your father?" he asked her, her humming faltering and nearly dropping her sword.

"No, there is no place for me and I no longer desire to journey. I have done so all my life." 

"A Ranger from birth?"

"A Ranger my whole life. I wish for a bit of peace and quiet though the times are dangerous and bleak." She smiled a bit returning her attention to her sword. 

Boromir resumed to pace back and forth before the fire. The golden haired girl ceased to clean her blade and began to sharpen it. "If you do not journey with your father, why prepare your blade?" 

"I feel a need to make a long journey of my own but all is unknown to me. I dream of stars dancing above the canopy of a beautiful forest and I long to find that place. Until then, my heart is not at ease." She fell silent for a moment and he moved away from her. "Lord Boromir, danger resides in every shadow; it does not merely follow the ring bearer. The darkness is spreading swiftly and soon _I may be needed."  _

Boromir contemplated this for a moment. "Time passes swiftly, my lord." She stood, bowing to the dark-haired man. "Your journey begins in a matter of days." 

Her feet led her out the door and the four young hobbits exchanged glances. "And to think we thought her a man!" Pippin exclaimed suddenly. 

"Rómensir is right," Bilbo gave the hobbits a meaningful look. "Your journey begins soon. Frodo, I want to make a book of this adventure. You must tell me _everything that happens. A good book needs details and details we shall have!" Bilbo leapt to his feet. _

Sam looked at Frodo for a moment. "Mr. Frodo, this'll be a great adventure, one to go down in history. Don't look so sad."

And on the twenty fifth, the company left Imladris, a hush of foreboding soon filling the air. All hope for Middle Earth resting in nine people. The breeze of the deep winter overtook the city, the elves passing here and there wrapped in cloaks, their heads lowered as they sang mournful songs. Preparations were made for the journey to the Grey Havens where the elves would leave Middle Earth one by one. Rómensir passed her time watching the elves pass to and fro from her bedroom window with sadness in her eyes. Without the elves, Middle Earth would become bleak and mournful, no more of the elfin grace and where there was, they would crumble to ruins one day. Arwen sat beside the girl silently as the days passed, speaking occasionally of the life of the elves, their past, and of the Valar. 

"We do not wish to leave our home."

"Why do you leave?"

"The One ring will be destroyed, the elfin rings will fail and our cities will crumble into nothing."

"And the humans and the dwarfs?"

"They are no longer dependent on their rings…"

Rómensir said nothing, watching another elf pass through the courtyard. "You give up hope so easily?"

"We have seen many more years. There is no hope. If the Ring falls into Sauron's hands we will be doomed. He gains power with each passing day. Yet if Frodo succeeds in destroying the ring, we will be forced to leave."

"What of my father?" 

Her voice was restrained, filled with hurt, pain, and anger.

Arwen did not meet Rómensir's furious eyes. "You give up hope so easily and yet my father wanders the wilderness, risking his life for Middle Earth. If he lives, will you abandon his love and leave for the Valinor?"

No words formed on Arwen's lips.

Rómensir stood suddenly, the chair scrapping violently against the floor. "I leave in two days for Lothlórien, you cannot stop me." 

Elrond spun around as his daughter told him what had passed "She leaves? Why?" 

Arwen shook her head helplessly and shrugged. "I know naught," she said softly. "She only said her destination was Lothlórien."

Her father muttered something to himself. Arwen waited patiently for him to return his attention to her once more. "She says she cannot be stopped?" Arwen nodded gravely. "Humans have a strange determination, though blinded and foolish it may be. She cannot be stopped…Aragorn said that she was stubborn and strong of heart."

"Will we send someone to accompany her? Elrohir? Elladan? Glorfindel?"

He contemplated this course of action for a moment but such a route did not appear wise. "The ties between the elves and her in Imladris have been strained as of late and it is my fault alone. She is a danger and although Aragorn cares for her, I do not desire to place anyone in danger. I'd advise you avoid the young girl until her departure. We too will soon leave; our time in Middle Earth is over for we have outstayed our welcome long ago."

Arwen did not raise her head as her father slowly departed from the room. The road was laid before her and there were only two paths. She knew the young human's words were true but the road was difficult, tangled with thorns and shadows although the one that appeared so clean and safe offered little comfort. 

Rómensir growled as her belt refused to fastened. Perched upon her bed was Bilbo, watching as her cloak billowed and fluttered each time she turned or paced. "Are you sure this is a wise decision?" he asked. 

He knew immediately that was not what she wanted to hear as she growled and snapped, "I care naught if it is wise. I cannot stay here in this city of—of fools!" She finally fastened her belt and kicked aside a rug that was twisted. Bilbo sighed at the girl's outburst. "I do not belong here, I do not belong anywhere. In Lothlórien there is comfort and peace where I will live the rest of my days."

"It is dangerous beyond these borders."

"I have lived in the wild my life, Bilbo. The wild is the least of my concerns. I fear for my father but I can be of no aid, I have done all within my power." Calming down, she turned to sit beside the hobbit upon her bed. With a sigh she rubbed her eyes. "Tell me one last tale before I leave."

~*~

AH! Don't kill me. It's very short but this is mainly like an…well transition chapter. Not much here. The next chapter will be one of those 13 page ones again…I hope. On the road again. School is bad for my health. GAH! I'm soooo sorry. Please forgive me? I will write a lot more…soon…hopefully.


	6. Lothlórien

Dawn River-Chapter 5

_January 12, 3019__ TA_

_Upon the back of Hwestcelair, I have covered much ground pressing hard in the darkness and light. The mountains before my eyes, stand dark and imposing as a storm leers near Caradhras, where I intend to go. The weather is bitterly cold, the last light of autumn long faded and the mornings dawn grey and heavy with sorrow. A fear has been brewing in my heart. He will depart and yet he will not, I fear for them._

Hwestcelair peered at the girl perched upon the rock, staring at the dark mountains, standing strong yet nearly invisible against the dark sky. "There they are," she tilted the horse's head towards her, running her hand beneath his head. "Turned away by a dark hand." His head tilted and his hoof stamped the ground, crushing the dry grass beneath, as a deep sound resonated from each beat. She stood and mounted the horse, swinging up ungracefully with her cloak whirling wildly behind her. As soon as she rested upon the back of the horse, they fled once more across the open fields.

The light turned the dark stones into grey as it pierced the crevices of the hills and tinged the air with warmth that bit back the winter cold. The country of Hollin was desolate in the winter, the brittle grass crinkling in the wind, singing songs of woe and sorrow, the trees melting into the hills, and the sun colder and paler than ever before. The land was silent, holding a sense of foreboding. It spoke of the evil eyes that saw through every weary traveler, searching for their intent and destination, to see what business they had upon the forgotten roads.

The creatures of the land were stranger than ever. There was rarely sound aside from the mournful songs and when the birds would pass high overhead, they came in packs, large and dark. She paid them no heed, she had no business with the dark sorcerer who controlled them and he would pay her no heed, a strange girl east to west, though his eyes were ever watchful of those who entered the no mans land. 

The tall mountain neared but not close enough, a jagged tooth dark against the morning sky. The snow covered tip gleamed bright in the rising rays of the sun, a new layer of snow turning golden as the morning grew older. "A storm looms ahead." Hwestcelair turned his head to face the girl upon his back but steered his course true. "They have lain in its heart this night and depart this morning. We must make for the Redhorn Gate."

There were neither rocks nor snow to hinder her horse and the sun had returned to shine upon the cold mountain. When the land began to slope sharply upwards and the rough path begin to narrow, she dismounted and led the horse, hurrying along and never turning back. Her eyes would not dare to dream of the road back to Imladris, but she remembered the dim comfort she had found when her father had been there. 

Caradhras turned his eye upon her but settled into slumber without a care while darker eyes watched with curiosity at the creature, neither human nor elf nor dwarf.

As darkness fell about them in the clouds that blanketed the old mountain, the air began to cooled and the wind bit into her skin. The horse moved closer to the girl but her pace did not stop as she scaled the steep mountain path, drawing her cloak about her to shield the unforgiving wind. 

Snow piled high upon the path and hindering her movement as it thickened. The elfin horse waited patiently as she pushed through the deep drifts and made a thin path. There was no life besides the slumbering mountain and she began to shiver as the sweat born from pushing through the snow froze against her skin. She was ill equipped for the biting cold, silently reprimanding herself for being so thoughtless, but she had gone too far and returning upon the path would be no easier than continuing forward. Hwestcelair nudged the girl to mount his back once more, but too stubborn she continued to trudge through the drifts until she had no energy to continue. There she slumbered, resting her back upon the horse and dreamed of darkness and fire.

He was watching her.

She had not slept long and in the darkness of night, her horse nudging her awake. Jumping to her feet, she mounted the Hwestcelair to navigate the narrow path. The elfin horse knew his footing well and trotted merrily across the frozen terrain. The cold bit into her skin and she hunched over the horse with her golden hair tangled and wet with the melting snow. 

As a cold bitter darkness descended upon them once more, Rómensir urged the horse to a stop, though he did not obey. Having no more strength to continue, sleep descended upon her as she sat upon the horse. When the sun rose again, turning the blackness of night into grey, the cold did not abate and illness began to overtake her. Her skin was frozen with the melted snow that had grown solid once more, forming a thin coating over her. Her face seemed frozen, with her eyes half open still and overly pale. 

Illness overtook her and she began to warm with fever, visions of the past plaguing her mind. Eventually, reality was mixed with fantasy and the snowflakes and cold faded from her mind. She felt no more the physical pain of the coldness and hunger that began to overtake her body from days without meal. A day passed until the cold began to diminish and the snow thinned. Hwestcelair raced across the wide open plains for the trees ahead. Lost within her sickness, she observed none of this. 

 _January 16, 3019__ TA_

"_Suil, Rómensir." (Greeting, Rómensir)_

A voice gently called her name once more, barely audible above the rustling of the trees. 'A dream,' she thought to herself.

"But it is far from a dream. The time has come for you to awaken once more."

Her eyes shot open immediately and she bolted upright upon the bed. Her eyes darted around the room as she reached for the sword that would still be attached by her belt…

…only to find it missing.

"There is no need for fear, Rómensir, you are safe."

But she could not find the speaker. Her eyes darted wildly about the room as she sought a weapon of some sort until her eyes landed upon the mirror. She leapt to her feet instantly and barely stood. Half collapsing, half stumbling, she made her way as swiftly as she could to the mirror and raised her fist above her head preparing to strike a blow into her reflection when she saw her standing behind her.

"_Hiril Galadriel! Im anna—" _(Lady Galadriel! I give—)

"_Pedch al peth." (You speak no words.)_

Rómensir fell silent before the golden haired elf. She bowed low until Galadriel acknowledge for her to stand once more. "You have journeyed long and far on your own. Your father could not have prepared you for the danger of Caradhras. Though one may call it folly, I deem it courageous. You have returned to your true home, the river in which you have been birthed from."

She said nothing in return, her voice lost as she listened to the fair elf speak the harsh words of Common Tongue rather than the flowing elfin speech. "Change, child of the river, and return to us soon."

Galadriel dipped her head slightly as Rómensir bowed until the elf left. She turned about and stared through the breaking between the curving wood that seemed to form a window. The city of Caras Galadhon stood before her, illuminated by the warmth of the sun. A calm stole through her body at the sight before turning to face her reflection in the mirror once more. She was thin and pale, a ghost of the girl she once was. The memory of the last leg of the journey to Lothlórien escaped her and with a sigh she gave up, reaching for a white dress that lay upon the arm of a chair. 

She thought she had escaped these articles of clothing.  

Evening fell across the city, the winter wind cool and its song held a note of darkness. The elves returned to their _talans_, singing their way as they scaled the enormous trees. Their deep roots coursed into the earth and would reappear above the surface only to dive under once more. Rómensir rested on the couch of an open _talan far out upon the branch of the largest tree where Galadriel resided. Above the leaves of the tree she could see stars watching her as she turned her eyes to them and a faint song of the loveliest voice she had ever heard filled her mind. A voice so fair it surpassed the voice of all elfin women. _

It seemed as if she had heard the song before, an old song and yet forgotten. She could not place the voice, nor the words, but only faintly heard the melody. It was not a song Aragorn had sung to her and she could only guess that it was before she had met Aragorn or rather he found her. A thought of happiness coursed through her veins as she thought of the comfort she felt in this timeless wood, but it was shrouded with a cloth of fear.

"Lady Galadriel, how fairs the company?"

Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel lifted their heads to look at the young girl. "The company is alive and well, though there is a shadow," Galadriel replied softly and returned to the song she was singing.

"Haldir leads them to Caras Galadhon as we speak. They shall come to us and you shall be reunited with your father," Celeborn turned his head to the stars and watched them as the golden haired girl pondered their replies.

They were hiding something.

And fear brewed in her heart.

Turning her head to the skies once more, she fancied that she saw a fair face in the light but shook her head for there could be no one in the starlight. 

'_Mell__ iell, Serenity.' (Dear daughter, Serenity)_

She was frozen to the spot in which she sat.

 '_Ann __ennin__ iuit a gallch o iell an Serenity._' (Many years passed and you grew from a girl to Serenity.)

It whispered softly into her mind, though it was not the voice of Galadriel. She knew of no other who could speak into her mind so. 

'_Im Elbereth.'_

"_Elbereth!_" 

Her cry called the attention of the elves to her. All who gathered watched her and some whispered amongst themselves. Galadriel rose from where she sat and walked towards the girl.

"Are you well, child?"

"Lady Elbereth speaks, in my mind. I know naught how she may but her voice so fair and sweet! She sings a song so enchanting, so beautiful," she was silenced by the tall elf.

"The day has been long and your sickness not cured. It would be best if you rested, Rómensir."

She did not protest and allowed herself to be lead away by a fair elf. She turned her head to the sky once more before it disappeared from her view. Her sheltered talan was lit with an orb of light, not fire nor completely magic. As she entered, several more lit up to form a canopy of stars. Retiring to her bed, she fell asleep instantly and saw an eye encircled with flame.

Morning dawned bright and clear across the elfin city and Rómensir was already pacing her room as the light spread across the floor of her room. They were coming, she could see them cross to the city, though one was missing. Fear brewed in her heart of knowledge she already knew, but hope was still lived, shrouded with a white veil. An elf came to her door and rasped softly before opening the door. She turned her head to see Galadriel standing in the doorway.

"_Maeraur," Rómensir bowed to the lady. (Good morning)_

"We request your presence soon."

The golden haired girl diverted her eyes outside the window where she envisioned the Fellowship entering the city, Haldir leading them. "No."

Galadriel raised an eyebrow. Mirth filled her eyes and a smile graced her lips. "You do not wish to see your father? He comes hither this day."

Rómensir's eyes darkened as she turned her eyes upon the lady once more. "My presence is not desired. I wish not for formalities and to be displayed as a doll. I will remain in my quarters until the ceremonies are completed."

"There will be no ceremonies Rómensir," Galadriel said firmly, her eyes lost their mirth and filled with grief. "There is no celebration. Gandalf has fallen, the journey is dangerous and will only signify our end. There is nothing to celebrate." Her voice quickly lost its softness and kindness. Rómensir kept her face emotionless, hiding the grief that welled within her.

"Then there is no need for me to grace the Company with my presence, I will wait here until dinner." 

Galadriel watched as the girl walked to the window and sat before it. She turned away and disappeared, silently closing the door behind her. 

Rómensir passed her day sitting before the window, watching the elves as they slowly passed from _talan _to _talan. Beneath the peace and calm, there was a note of fear and urgency in every move and action. Shortly following the midday meal, she watched as a long train of elves departed from the woods, singing mournfully as they lead horses before them towards the west. The bite of winter froze her within as she listened to their song, turning her head away as tears formed within her eyes.  _

Darkness fell and she heard the clear notes from the horn of the Elf-wardens far bellow. Her heart gave a leap at the sound and she stood before she could stop herself. A dull ache filled her head as she fought back the joy within her heart. She began to pace about her room and in a cry of frustration she unsheathed her sword, wrapping her fingers around the hilt. A calm spread throughout her body as she stood with the blade in her hand. She swung the blade about as though it was a pendulum before drawing it before her to fight an invisible foe.

So engrossed in her practice, she failed to notice the door open and a figure entering until her blade met another. She gasped as Aragorn stood before her, his blade pushing against her own. A cry escaped her mouth as she redoubled her efforts in her battle against his blade. He drew his blade back, taking a step back and made an upward slash at her face before forming a small circle with its tip, aiming for her heart. As soon as she saw the blade move in its circular path, she moved her blade with its point to the ground and pushed it against his blade, a loud clang echoing in the room. 

With unknown strength and speed, she moved from the defensive to the offensive, feigning moves and formulating blows against her teacher. As he made a swing or her neck, she danced backwards and ducked beneath his blade, swinging her own at his legs, hitting them with the dull part of her blade before turning her blade in her hand. Its point rested at his chin and he made no move, she had won this duel. 

"Very good, Rómensir." 

She stood once more, moving the point of her blade to his heart. She made the move of pushing the point into his chest before withdrawing her blade. "You would be dead, perhaps you are aging." Sheathing her sword once more, she sat down in a chair beside the window. "Why are you here?"

"The same could be asked of you."

"And yet, I questioned before you."

He was not accustomed to her short manner and he frowned. "I am on a journey to destroy the ring, as you already know of. We are passing through Lothlórien."

"Why are you in my _quarters_?"

Aragorn raised an eyebrow as he sheathed his sword and took a seat across from her. "Galadriel spoke of you residing in this city and I came to see why you were here instead of Imladris where you were supposed to be." 

"I have no reason to answer your question. I am here for I desire so." 

She stood abruptly making her way for the door in quick, angry steps. Aragorn stood as her fingers rested upon the door handle. "Rómensir, you have many years still, do not wither away in the trees of Caras Galadhon. There is a world for you to live in, people like you. The lives of humans are destined to be short but they can still perform great deeds."

"It is not my place to perform these great deeds. I am a girl that is a ranger, tell me what good I can do in the world. There is nothing for me, my destiny is death."

As the door closed in her wake, Aragorn felt something drain from within him. His efforts amounted to nothing, she remained hopeless still. She had changed so much, and she was entirely unpredictable.

Rómensir stood before her door, staring angrily out amongst the trees. With a heavy sigh, she started down the branches towards the ground. It had been a while since she had felt the ground beneath of her. She found herself on the ground before long and when she left the long staircase, she turned her head upwards, questioning how she had descended so quickly. Near the fountain she spotted the hobbits sitting and talking, lifting her skirts to clear way for her feet, she ran towards them. It was Sam who first saw her and leapt to his feet, the other soon following him.

A smile blossomed on her face as she wrapped her arms around the hobbits in turn. All questioned how she had come to Lothlórien and at the commotion, Boromir and Gimli emerged from the pavilion. A smile came to the face of Boromir as he approached the hobbits and the girl. Rómensir sat the hobbits on the edge of the fountain and questioned them how their journey had been and in turn, they questioned her about how she arrived in Caras Galadhon. As Boromir came to a halt before the group, Rómensir threw her arms around him in an embrace and did the same to Gimli. 

Aragorn stood at a distanced, watching as his daughter laughed with the hobbits about the happier notes of their journey, and in their minds, they tried to drown the sorrow that befell them. 

The next day dawned bright and Rómensir found herself racing down the long staircase to the pavilion on the ground. It was on those stairs she nearly collided with an elf heading in the direction she was. This elf, however, was not clad in not the grey of Lothlórien but the green of Mirkwood. She instantly remembered him from the feast in the House of Elrond. "Lord Elf!" she exclaimed as she saw him. 

He turned his eyes to hers and a smile came to his lips. "It is Lady Rómensir, is it not? How do you fair?"

"I am quite well, and what brings you to Caras Galadhon?"

"I could ask you the same myself; I am here with the Fellowship."

"Truly? I came here on my own not long before. Where are you bound this fair morning?"

"I am to take my meal with the Company. Are you to join us?"

"Yes, though I request you do not scold me about the amount I eat this time."

The elf laughed softly and they approached where the Fellowship was seated about a table near the fountain. Two empty seats awaited them as they came to the table. As they took their meal, they talked of nonsense, exchanging various tales. Rómensir found her spirits greatly lifted as she spent time with the Fellowship. She found herself avoiding her father and blocking her memories of Gandalf. 

The wizard's death was not easily forgotten and although they tried to block their grief, it returned as the elves began to sing songs of him throughout the woods. Their sorrow soon returned to them as the days passed. They reminisced about their times spent with Gandalf for long hours beneath the tall trees. Sam would speak to Rómensir of the fireworks he displayed. Rómensir often spoke of how he teased her for her short stature although she was human. Often times she found herself silently crying with the hobbits as they remembered the wizard.

To divert her mind, she began to spend time abroad in the forest with Gimli and Legolas. Together with the elf, she would tell the dwarf stories of the land and the elves that lived in the forest before they came. Gimli always listened to the tales with wide eyes, his unease of the elves long forgotten. Before long, it came time for the Fellowship to depart once more. It was then Aragorn came to speak with Rómensir once more. She wanted to turn a deaf ear to him but found that she could not ignore him for long.

"Rómensir, tomorrow we leave to continue our journey," she said nothing in reply. "I have discussed it with the Fellowship and they agreed that your company would be much welcomed."

She turned her head to look at her father. He stood, waiting for her reply. "I am not to leave Lothlórien until the white wizard reveals himself. Many days will pass before that day and sorrow will befall the Fellowship once more. It is not my place to do great things." 

'_Carch beleg cardh.' (You do great deeds.)_

Rómensir closed her eyes, attempting to silence the fair voice within her mind. Only death awaits me, she thought.

'_Darcuilch.' (Life waits you.)_

She turned her head to the stars far above. "Rómensir, you cannot stay here forever. Journey with us for a time, the land of Men is not far."

'_Gwannach.' (Depart)_

"I will go."

A smile formed on Aragorn's face and he stepped towards Rómensir, wrapping his arms around her in an embrace. "_Gerich meleth nîn, iell_." (You have my love, daughter)

Rómensir pulled herself away from the Ranger and walked towards the stairs, mounting them slowly without glancing at her father. As she neared her quarters she nearly ran into Legolas who was descending the stairs. "Do not be cruel to your father; he has no anger towards you, only love."

She raised her head to look at the elf, her eyes wet with tears. "I have no anger towards him but only to myself, for I am mortal and cannot be at his side forever." 


End file.
